


out of the dead land

by tomorrowsrain



Series: the waste land [1]
Category: Do No Harm (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Polyamory, Ruben marcado is gonna save the world, Survival, Threesome - F/M/M, Violence, Zombies, just watch him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-11-10 03:18:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11118810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomorrowsrain/pseuds/tomorrowsrain
Summary: Two years ago, the country went to hell in a massive hand basket. Now: Ruben is searching for a cure, Sonny is trying to build a personal college course from hoarded books, Usnavi would do almost anything for a decent cup of coffee, and Vanessa isn't here.[or the post-apocalyptic zombie AU that absolutely no one asked for but I couldn't resist writing anyway.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what I'm doing anymore. Buckle up, kids, this is probably gonna be a wild ride.
> 
> Title is from "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot.

_Fuck,_ it’s cold. He’s pretty sure there’s ice on his eyelashes and his fingers are numb even through the gloves he wore to bed and the five blankets piled on top of him. He shifts on the mattress, blinking up at the ceiling to try to shake the frost loose.

No dice.

He’s not about to take his hand out of the blankets to wipe it away, though.

Next to him, Sonny burrows in deeper with a low groan, face mushed against the flannel sheets. On Usnavi's other side, Ruben’s face is pressed into his neck and he mumbles, awesomely hot against his skin, “what time s’ it?”

“Dunno,” Usnavi replies because they have no clocks left in the house. Batteries ran out six months ago. “Waking up time? Sun’s out.”

The only evidence of that is the tiny pinpricks of light visible in the gaps of the thick blinds, but Usnavi’s learned to trust his body clock. If he’s awake, sun’s either out or just rising.

Sonny groans again. “I got the fire yesterday. You guys fight it out.”

“So not how this works,” Usnavi says.

“Yeah, we’re sticking with the agreed upon rules of engagement,” Ruben says and worms a hand out from under the covers. Usnavi does the same.

“On three.” Ruben shifts to face Usnavi a little better. “One, two, three.”

Shit. Ruben almost always goes for paper except for when, like this morning, he randomly decides to go for rock instead and crushes the hell out of Usnavi’s scissors. Ruben hums in triumph and flops back down, pulling the hood of ratty sweatshirt up over his head. Usnavi turns to Sonny.

“Okay, championship round. On three.”

“I hate you,” Sonny mutters, but obligingly holds up his fist.

“One, two, three!”

Sonny goes for rock and Usnavi triumphantly covers his hand. “Paper. Ha!”

“Man, fuck you,” Sonny whines.

Usnavi waves an imperious hand, adopting the fanciest accent he can. “Go stoke the fires, butler.”

Sonny flips him off as he crawls off the mattress and stumbles from the room. The stairs creak loud under his feet on the way down. With him gone, Usnavi’s whole right side is back to being freezing. He remedies this by rolling into Ruben, wrapping an arm around him and tangling their legs together.

“Ruben,” he says, drawing out the syllables into a whine, “why is it so fucking _cold?_ ”

Ruben presses their foreheads together, warm brown eyes filling his vision. “Well, you see, there’s this thing called winter and when it’s winter the earth—”

Usnavi shuts him up with a kiss, uncaring of morning breath as he curls their tongues together. It’s been over twelve hours since they last kissed and that’s way too long.

And besides.

“Happy Anniversary,” he says when he pulls back, trying to keep his voice cheerful.

Ruben’s answering smile is tinged with sadness. “Happy Anniversary.”

Usnavi brushes his hair off his forehead, making a mental note to ask him if he wants a trim soon—it’s starting to curl around his ears a little. “Three whole years, can you believe it?”

“Considering the odds, we’ve been up against, not really,” Ruben says and kisses him again, deep.

Neither of them mention the Vanessa-shaped hole in between them. She’s out there and she’s _alive,_ Usnavi knows that in his bones, but the absence of her aches. Like a permanent bruise on his heart.

Ruben’s moving down his neck to his shoulder, pausing to pull his gloves off with his teeth and get them on Usnavi’s skin and yes, _yes,_ it’s been even longer since they last fucked, _weeks,_ and it’s freezing and they’re wearing about ten layers each and Sonny will kill them if they mess up the mattress, but he doesn’t care. He _wants._

He grinds his hips into Ruben’s and he can’t feel much through all these fucking _clothes,_ but Ruben is meeting him, shoving his thigh between Usnavi’s legs. Yes, yes, yes. Usnavi yanks his own gloves off behind Ruben’s back and fumbles around, trying to ruck up Ruben’s undershirt, shirt, and hoodie all at once.

“Fuck, too many _clothes.”_

Ruben’s laughing into his shoulder, loud and gorgeous and like always, Usnavi wishes he could bottle it and keep it in a jar to listen to whenever he wants like a good version of Ursula or something.

He’s _finally_ managed to shift enough clothes to run his palm across Ruben’s hip and Ruben is making the _best_ noises into his mouth when Sonny shouts up the stairs.

“Oy, lovebirds! Stop swappin’ spit and get down here. I lit the fire which means I ain’t makin’ breakfast!”

Usnavi groans in frustration and is tempted to ignore him, but past experience has proven that Sonny with either start throwing something at the ceiling or march back up here.

“Can we kill him?” Ruben asks, thunking his head down onto Usnavi’s shoulder.

“Tempting, but then who would run the store?”

“Good point.” Ruben leans back in for one last searing kiss. “Later.”

“I’m holdin’ you to that.”

Ruben smile turns into a suggestive smirk. “Looking forward to it.”

It isn’t quite the same without Vanessa to roll her eyes at them, but Usnavi still laughs.

“I’m _hungry!”_ Sonny shouts.

“Fuck off!” Usnavi yells back and presses one last kiss to Ruben’s mouth. “On three?”

Ruben nods.

“Uno, dos … ¡tres!”

The cold air hits them like a brutal punch when they throw back the covers and Usnavi scrambles for his third pair of socks while Ruben bends to pick up the strip of thick black cloth resting on the floor next to the mattress.

“Help me?” he asks through slightly chattering teeth, holding it up.

Usnavi moves around the mattress to take it from him. “I’m gonna find you a new pair of sunglasses,” he says as he ties the strip carefully over Ruben’s eyes. “Just you wait.”

“This is fine,” Ruben says with a shrug and adjusts it into place. It completely covers his eyes, which Usnavi _hates,_ and sits neat against the bridge of his nose. “It keeps out the light and it kinda makes me feel like Daredevil.”

Usnavi snorts, affectionate. “Yeah, you’re Matt Murdock, all right.”

“Only the science version,” Ruben says.

“Which is way better.”

Ruben grins at him, crooked and beautiful, and Usnavi takes his hand to lead him down the stairs, promising to himself for the fifty thousandth time that he’s gonna find stuff to fix the blinds in the living room so they can keep out the light. Ruben’s eyes have been getting worse lately and even just a little bit makes them hurt.

Sonny has a roaring fire going in the fireplace and Usnavi cracks a window in the kitchen so that the heat will flow through the house. 

“Bout damn time,” Sonny says when he sees them, perched on the lone couch in the spacious room.

They burned the bed two months ago, but Usnavi insisted that they needed to keep _some_ furniture. There are still plenty of buildings around to loot, even if Usnavi has to expand his radius more with each passing week. He still wants a couch to sit on, damnit.

(Fortunately, the room doesn’t feel too empty because of Ruben’s plants that take up nearly a third of it. Arranged in neat rows and growing out of various things, including an old metal filing cabinet they found. First thing Ruben did after the outbreak started was go out and buy a shit ton of supplies and now he’s got a small garden of natural medicine—turmeric, garlic, lavender, Usnavi can’t really keep track of the rest. But he’s pretty sure Ruben is magic because he’s managed not to lose a single plant in two years.

And Ruben has now one-upped him as the most popular person in the barrio. New pillar of their tattered community. Usnavi is seriously proud.)

“It’s our anniversary,” Ruben says, crossing over easily to sit beside him. He needs help with the stairs, but he’s got the rest of the layout of the house memorized. “We get to sleep in.”

“Yeah and you ruined what could have been a truly _epic—”_

“Nope,” Sonny says, putting his hands over his ears before Usnavi can finish. “No sex talk. It’s a _rule,_ remember?”

Usnavi goes to wink at Ruben, then abruptly remembers that Ruben can’t see him right now, and freezes. It’s been almost a year. He should be fucking used to it by now, but it still trips him up sometimes.

He hates the sudden tide of grief that crashes over him like a wave breaking against rocks. Combats it by powering up the generator and starting on breakfast. If the country hadn’t gone to shit, he would be making Ruben and Vanessa Los Tres Golpes and they would be back in the cozy warmth of his apartment above the bodega, laughing at the kitchen table in the sunlight.

But the country _has_ gone to shit so Usnavi is making arroz con leche with powdered milk and some probably expired sugar he managed to dig up last week. And they’re not above the bodega, they’re five blocks away in a long dead stranger’s townhouse ‘cause it had a fireplace and somewhere for Ruben to set up a lab. And Vanessa…

Nope. Not helping the grief. More powdered milk.

He’s pretty sure the arroz con leche tastes like absolute shit, but his palate is really warped now, and Ruben and Sonny either have the same problem or are nice enough not to say anything. They eat a half a bowl each and save the rest for dinner.

Hunger—the persistent, lingering ache of it in the pit of his stomach—is something else Usnavi’s gotten used to.

One they’ve finished, Sonny shrugs his coat on and adjusts his ratty baseball cap on his head. “Right, I’m off, idiots. Absolutely no fucking on the mattress. Use the floor like civilized people and _don’t_ tell me about it.”

Usnavi rolls his eyes and still tells him to be careful. Same ritual they go through every morning, even though the barrio’s pretty safe now. In the early days, they slept in shifts huddled against the shelves in the bodega, desperate to defend the resources they had from bands of looters and thugs. Most of the Infected have moved downtown, though, and the pockets of survivors around now are pretty polite—happy to trade services or other goods in exchange for luxuries like instant coffee and the occasional bag of candy. Or his current bestselling item: flour. 

So, they deemed it safe enough to lock up the bodega at night and open it in the morning like they did Before. So far so good. Only one incident of theft and Sonny got the thief in the legs with his metal baseball bat before the dude could even make it out the door. That seemed to deter future attempts. Especially because you could hear the guy’s leg snap out in the street and the ensuing howls of pain were pretty distinctive.

Usnavi still hates violence, hated listening to that guy scream and watch him thrash on the floor, but he understands the sometimes necessity of it.

Survival is messy and all that.

“Hey,” he says to Ruben as they rinse off the dishes with their dwindling supply of water. (Gotta make sure to pick up a jug of it from the river on the way back so that Ruben can sterilize it overnight.) “You ever think ‘bout how this whole mess has pretty much forced us all to become vegetarians? And like, not even that because the only vegetables left are the godawful canned ones? And it’s always corn. Always. So, like, corn-etarians?”

Ruben carefully dries the plate Usnavi hands him. “Every time I remember what bacon used to taste like.”

Usnavi swallows back a groan. “No, don’t talk about _bacon._ Sorry I brought it up.”

“Yeah, I hate you,” Ruben mutters but he’s smiling. Usnavi can see it lurking there in the corner of his mouth.

Usnavi wonders, like always, if it reaches all the way up to Ruben’s eyes—hidden behind that fucking cloth. It falls short a lot, these days, Usnavi hates it more than anything except the current awful lack of Vanessa in their lives.

“Love you, too,” he says, bumping his hip against Ruben’s.

Once the dishes (nicer than he’s ever owned in his life, even with all the cracks in them) are safely stored in the cupboard, Usnavi retrieves his backpack and coat from the closet and starts layering back up again.

“I should be coming with you,” Ruben says, leaning against the wall. “Today of all days.”

“I know,” Usnavi agrees, because he wants Ruben there, but they both know it’s too risky, what with Ruben’s eyes and the slight tremor that runs through his right hand, making it difficult to shoot a gun if need be.

Ruben’s just venting, no point in stating the obvious to him.

“You have my message, though?” Ruben asks and Usnavi does. Tucked into his coat pocket last night so he absolutely wouldn’t forget.

He cups Ruben’s cheeks his hands, cloth and skin beneath his fingers, and kisses him in reassurance. Loves him, loves him, loves him so much his whole chest aches with it.

“Yep, and a whole bag of M&Ms that are only six months past their expiration date so they should give me plenty of airtime to read it.”

Ruben swallows and nods. “Right. Be careful?”

“I always am,” Usnavi says and can immediately _feel_ Ruben glaring at him from under the blindfold. “Okay, I _usually_ am.” Ruben snorts and Usnavi rubs a thumb gently over his cheekbone. It’s sharper than it was two years ago. “She’s gonna come back to us.”

He has to keep believing that.

“I know,” Ruben says, voice thick and breaking. “But for now, _you_ need to come back to me. Okay?”

“I will,” Usnavi promises and there have been a few close calls, but he’s managed to keep it so far. Doesn’t plan on changing that today.

(Mostly because Ruben would probably find a way to drag his ass back from the afterlife and murder him all over again if he went and got himself killed on their anniversary.)

He pauses in the middle of tying his scarf over the lower half of his face. “Hey, you got a list today?”

“Just apple cider vinegar, if you can find it. Need to make a new batch of Blackout, but I’m good on all the ingredients for that.”

He adds it to his mental list labeled To Get for Supply Runs that's always way too long. “Got it.”

He then runs through the rest of his mental checklist:

Hat, check. Pistol, check. Rifle in case pistol jams, check. Knife in case both pistol and rifle don’t work, check. Backpack, check. Gloves, check. Boots, check. Crowbar, check.

All set, then. Let another ninja supply run commence.

Near the sofa, Ruben crosses his arms over his chest and there’s a little worried wrinkle in the middle of his forehead and now Usnavi wants to kiss him again but he’s got his scarf on. Screw it. He can retie the scarf.

He pulls it back down and tugs Ruben in for one last kiss. Wants desperately to see his eyes again, but won’t ask him to hurt himself for it. No time to go into the dark, makeshift lab, either. This will have to do.

He’s used to going without things. Used to “this will have to be enough.” Fortunately, he was used to it before everything went to hell in a decorated handbasket. Made the transition easier.

“I’ll be back for dinner,” he says, deepening his voice and adopting a thick New York accent. “Leave the light on, sweetheart.”

He is one hundred and fifty percent sure Ruben is rolling his eyes, but he plays along like always, pitching his own voice higher. “Of course, stud. Anything for you.”

Fuck, Usnavi loves him so fucking much. Tells him so. No point in holding any of that shit inside, even when you’re not worried you might die just by stepping outside your front door.

Ruben’s head tilts a little—the way it sometimes does when he’s taken aback or trying not to cry. “I love you, too.”

Usnavi resists the urge to kiss him again. Daylight is precious and all that. But when he closes the front door, he feels, like he usually does, that he’s leaving all the vital parts of himself with Ruben.

It’s fine, though. Ruben will keep them safe.

_ _

 

One of things he hates the most is how _quiet_ everything is now. So quiet he can practically hear the thump of his own heart. His world has _never_ been quiet. Full to the brim from day one with his parents’ laughter and the honk of cars and the rattle of the A train. Hip-hop pouring from car speakers and boleros from the radios perched on the stoops of old ladies’ houses. Piragua guys hawking their wares in the summer and vendors shouting from the open markets. Abuela Claudia humming to herself as she made dinner. Fire escapes and windows rattling in the storm winds.

And now?

He feels like a ghost in a long-dead world, picking his way carefully through the shells of cars abandoned on the GWB.

He’s learned how to be silent when he needs to—when he goes further downtown and into Infected territory—but today he raps to himself as he maneuvers around a bus and over the hood of a car, uncaring that it’s muffled by his scarf. He can’t bear the silence compressing his lungs and ringing in his ears. It feels like a living thing against his skin, skittery and ant-like and awful.

He’s been working his way backwards through Calle 13’s entire discography lately and he settles on something from their first album. Fast-paced and good for keeping himself moving through the snow.

 _“Atrévete-te-te salte del closet_  
 _Destápate, quitate el esmalte_  
 _Deja de taparte_  
 _Que nadie va a retratarte…_ ”

Normally, he makes this trek on a Friday morning—all the way across the bridge and into Linwood (because of _course_ the closest radio station had to be in _Jersey_ )—but today’s an exception. It’s still kinda weird, though. He’s gotten used to his little routines. They’re anchor points when everything else is a half-step from chaos all the time. So even though he knows the bridge doesn’t actually look any different on a Wednesday, he _feels_ like it does.

He still waves to the few faces his recognizes on his way through Linwood to the station and very carefully doesn’t think about all the familiar faces that should be here but _aren’t_ anymore.

He’s learned that his heart’s too soft to carry that kinda weight around all the time. It’ll just get crushed to pulp.

 

_ _

 

Leon and Santiago open the door when he raps on it.

“Yo, what’s up, fellas?” he asks, trading hugs and manful pats on the back.

Both of them are stupid tall and used to play football or some shit Before so the manful pats pretty much knock the wind out of him. He disguises it with a cough.

“You’re late,” Santiago says as they start climbing the fourteen sets of stairs up to the studio.

“Aw, worried about me?”

“Nah, we just want those M&Ms,” Leon says.

“I got ‘em, don’t worry,” Usnavi fires back. “Jumbo bag and everything.”

“Well that should buy you two minutes of airtime,” Santiago says.

Wait. Back up.

“Two minutes, that’s _it?_ C’mon, man, you said four last week.”

“That’s before we got swamped. Airtime ain’t cheap, man. You’re lucky we’re giving you two with the load of messages we gotta relay.”

Leon squeezes his shoulder in silent sympathy and he gets it. Really. There are literally _millions of_ people out there like him right now, hurling messages over the airwaves with the vague, longshot hope that their lost loved ones will hear them.

Still sucks, though.

In the studio, he pulls out the jumbo bag of M&Ms and hands it over with only small pang. God, he misses chocolate. But not as much as he misses good coffee. He’d probably legitimately kill someone for a cup of decent coffee.

“Okay, there. Go stuff your faces and give me privacy, please.”

He shoos them outside the makeshift booth and pauses to take off his gloves and the rest of his mini arsenal. His fingers tremble a little as he puts the headphones on—same as they always do.

Ruben’s handwriting has smudged on the edges, but he can still read it. Spreads the paper out careful and reverent on the rickety table.

Deep breaths, don’t cry.

He starts out in the same format as all the other messages that get broadcast every few hours each day: “Vanessa Otilia García, Usnavi De La Vega and Ruben Marcado are waiting for you in Upper Manhattan.” 

Okay, okay, he can do this.

“And also want to wish you a happy three-year anniversary.”

Shit his voice is already cracking. He soldiers through it.

“We miss you so fucking much, querida. Novia, hermosa, mi amour, mi corazon, mi vida _._ Please come home to us.” He looks down at Ruben’s note with blurry eyes. “Ruben … Ruben says, and I quote, ‘the bed feels cold without you in it and we’ve become incorrigible without you here to keep us in check. And I love you so, so much, but I hope you’re as miserable as we are because you have a piece of my heart with you and the absences of it, of _you,_ hurts more than I know what to do with. _’”_

Tears splatter onto the paper, further running the ink. He wipes a frantic hand over his face. So much for not crying. And he even practiced this at home, too, hoping it would help it get through it. So far, it’s just meant that he’s cried three times over this instead of once.

“I hope you’re safe. Wherever you are, cariña _,_ I hope you’re safe. Please, please be safe, Vanessa. We’ll see you soon.”

Every Friday for nearly two years, he's come here and shouted into the void. Over and over and over again: “Vanessa Otilia García, Usnavi De La Vega and Ruben Marcado are waiting for you in Upper Manhattan.” 

No response so far, but he's never gonna give up. She alive and she's out there and someday he'll hold her again and his arms will finally stop aching with longing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are deeply appreciated and always motivating. Or come chat to me on [tumblr](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Infected here are somewhat inspired by the Last of Us, who, in my opinion, did zombies way better than most.

He hates going downtown. Not even because of the Infected that still roam the streets and cluster in the darkened buildings—mutated and fast and deadly. No, here the very air smells like death, tastes stale and ash-like on his tongue through the filter of his scarf. He ties it tighter around his nose and mouth. Keeps the rifle clutched in gloved fingers.

Here the skyscrapers are hollow behemoths and fires still burn in alleys from broken gas mains. His skin crawls and he makes himself as silent as possible. Steps light, breathing slow through his nose. Eyes always moving, checking the shadows.

Ruben told him once, the science behind it all. How the disease started. Something about a fast-acting parasite, the likes of which no one had ever seen. Airborne originally, but unable to travel well over open spaces and dissipating quickly, which didn’t matter in the end. A few days was enough to infect half the city and then they spread it, with their claws and teeth, to everyone else.

Ruben explained the progression of the symptoms, too. Sensitivity to light, then horrible migraines, then aggressive behavior, then loss of higher cognitive function, then your body begins to change and warp until you barely look human at all. Whole process takes around two weeks, but, according to Ruben, it looks like the Infected may be continuing to mutate into more formidable monsters, which Usnavi really doesn’t want to think about.

He remembers, vaguely, the frantic news reports in the beginning. Instructions to stay indoors. Panic in the streets. Riots. Cops with guns trying to contain the situation and failing. Hospitals overflowing. Trying frantically to reach Vanessa through the clogged and failing cell networks. Again and again and again until his phone finally ran out of battery.

(“She’s in California,” Ruben said after Usnavi threw the dead phone at the wall with a desperate shout of frustration. “She has a desert to protect her.”

"But they were going to Chicago, remember?” He pointed to the calendar on the wall. “Visiting a high school friend in Chicago and then flying back from there.”

“Maybe they decided to stay in California,” Ruben said, but he didn’t sound like he believed it.)

And it was Ruben who kept them alive. Ruben who thought to get gas masks before everyone else and Ruben who sealed all the windows in the bodega and apartment shut and Ruben who started rationing their supplies right away, knowing already that the news reports were lying about it being over quick.

Ruben was the newfound leader of the block, in those early days. At least until…

Something moves in his peripheral.

He spins, lifting the gun. Nothing, but his heart doesn’t slow down any.

Infected don’t really come out in the streets in the middle of the day, but that’s more of a general pattern than a hard and fast rule and he’s learned by brutal experience not to take chances. Besides, he’s probably gonna have to go in some buildings to get everything on his list. Which is gonna suck, but Ruben is worth it. A thousand times over.

He keeps moving, ghost-like. He’s coming up on W 72nd Street now—Central Park a few blocks over. He only went inside there once, hoping there might be better quality water in the reservoir. That was dumb. Really, really Big Mistake. He’s still shocked he made it out alive and Ruben lectured him for a _week_ after.

Once he passes W 65th Street, he will officially be in uncharted territory. He’s heard, from other survivors, that the further south you go, the more Infected you run into, but. Hey. Ruben’s always saying you have to test hypotheses and theories for yourself.

And this is definitely not what he meant, but Usnavi’s learned with some things to ask forgiveness later instead of worrying Ruben beforehand. It was easier, back when Ruben could come with him and Benny was … was still here. But he can adapt. He’s okay.

He’s thought sometimes, though, about getting a zombie-detecting dog like in _I Am Legend._ That would be cool.

He pauses, on the corner of Columbus Avenue and West 65th Street—fingers tapping restless against the butt of his rifle. No tracks in the snow that he can see. No distant, bone-chilling shrieks.

Right. He takes a deep breath and steps into the intersection, boot sinking deep into the snow with a loud _crunch_. Overhead, traffic signals sway in the winter wind—blackened lights like empty eye sockets staring down at him. Nothing comes screaming from around any corners, though.

Another step. _Crunch._

He winces, freezing again. He’s been crunching the whole way down here, but he knows the streets above West 65th Street like the back of his hand, and he knows where the Infected like to hang out. Here? He has a vague mental map, but it’s at least two years old. Longer, probably. He rarely made it this far downtown even before the whole city fell to pieces.

Still nothing but silence, though, so maybe he’s okay.

He keeps going, with more confidence now.

_Crunch crunch crunch crunch…_

He keeps an eye out for grocery stories as he passes West 64th and West 63rd.

Wait. There. A Whole Foods.

He swallows back an instinctive whoop of excitement, settling on punching his arm into the air instead. Scrambles across the street at an almost run.

Please be intact, please be intact, please be intact…

The doors are bashed in, snow sweeping into the checkout area and piling up in the corners, but it looks like there’s still stuff on the shelves. The stench of rotting meat is heavy in the air. He hopes to god it’s from spoiled produce and not dead people. He hates stumbling across corpses—still isn’t really used to it even after two years.

He fumbles with the flashlight clipped to the strap of his backpack and clicks it on, then lifts his rifle again, peering down the sights as he sweeps for Infected. Fortunately, they’re not quiet at _all_ so he can usually hear them coming. Again, pattern not rule, though.

Got a huge scar all across his side and stomach to remind him if he starts to forget.

He checks the spices isle first. Surprisingly, most of the shelves are full. Or maybe not. He doubts spice is really high on anyone’s survival list. It takes him a minute, but he spots cinnamon sticks on the top shelf and pulls them down with another triumphant arm pump.

_Yes._

First item, check.

The coffee aisle sadly yields nothing and the candy aisle is empty. He swallows his disappointment and moves on.

 

_ _

 

Whole Foods Two is pretty much empty and he can definitely hear rustling sounds coming from somewhere in the back so he gets the _hell_ out and doesn’t stop until he makes it all the way to West 55 th.

He strikes gold two blocks over. Instant coffee in a boarded-up bodega, _yes._

This find warrants a victory spin. He’s struck by a jolt of inspiration on the way out and plucks a crumpled anniversary card from the spinning rack.

Outside, he pauses to check the sun. Late afternoon now, looks like. He really should head back, but he’s close to the theater district and he has one last theory that he wants to test.

He keeps heading east.

_ _

 

Most of the theatres mercifully have glass doors for entrances, and those have long been smashed in. He picks his way carefully into the snow-covered lobby of the Gershwin. Nothing behind the concession stand and when he checks in the back, he finds the storeroom door pried open and all the shelves empty.

Goddamnit.

One more. He’ll try one more.

The Neil Simon’s storeroom door is actually still intact. He jams his crowbar into the small gap between the door and the wood. Here’s hoping he won’t get violently murdered for this.

The door groans and the crack of wood is _ear-splitting,_ but the door opens and _yes,_ the shelves are full. He aims for dark chocolate and dumps a bunch of bars into his backpack. Grabs a few more bags of M&Ms.

_YES._

He’s so happy he could cry.

And he needs to get the _hell_ outta Dodge.

He’s stepping back onto the street when he hears it: a high, piercing wail. His blood freezes in his veins.

Fuck. _Fuck._

They come like ants, pouring out of the buildings on all sides. More than he’s ever seen. His brain is screaming in panic, but his body knows what to do.

_RUN._

_ _

 

They’re _fast_ and the snow is slowing him down. Oh god, he’s gonna die.

Abruptly, as he’s skidding around a corner at full sprint, he remembers the flashbangs Ruben stuffed into his pocket two days ago, “just in case.”

He fishes one out as he’s running, along with the lighter he’s taken to keeping with him in case his flashlight gives up the ghost. He nearly drops it, clumsy from the gloves and trying to run at the same time.

The shrieks are deafening.

The flashbang _finally_ ignites. He spins and hurls it to the ground, raising a hand to shield his eyes.

It goes off, the darkening evening flaring into brilliant white, and the roars of the Infected turn agonizing. One was almost on top of him and it flails, claws catching on the sleeve of his coat and sinking straight through his layers to skin.

He screams at the fiery explosion of pain and nails it in the head with the crowbar, forcing it free. It staggers back, wailing, and he shoots it twice with the pistol as soon as he has enough room.

The rest of them are rallying again and he stumbles, fumbling around for another flashbang.

His entire right arm is _burning_ and blood hits the snow in bright splatters of red. The smell might attract more of them and _why won’t this light?_

He tries a third time. It catches. He throws it and sprints again—a cacophony of screaming in his wake. 

 

_ _

 

They chase him all the way to fucking West 110th Street. He uses up two more flashbangs and nails five of them with the rifle before they finally give up.

He keeps running, unwilling to take any chances, pushing through the burning in his lungs.

At West 141st his legs give out and he collapses on his hands and knees in the snow. He’s dizzy from adrenaline and blood loss and panic and his chest heaves for air. He yanks down his scarf with a shaking hand so that he can gulp in several deep mouthfuls.

Fuck, that was too close. He is _never_ telling Ruben how close that was.

It’s dark now and he really needs to keep moving. Still got forty blocks to go. Only, he’s not really sure if he can get up.

 _C’mon, Usnavi,_ snaps the voice in the back of his head that has started sounding like Vanessa, _you really want Ruben out here at night looking for you? Get off your ass._

Right. Just break it down into manageable pieces. He pushes off with his arms and levers himself up to kneeling. Right leg now. Two tries, but he gets it under him. Left hand flat in the snow for support and right hand on right knee. Push. Left leg under him. Wobble, hold, _hold._

And he’s standing. Woo.

God he’s so cold, but his arm has stopped bleeding at least. Blood has probably frozen.

_Walk, Usnavi. One step at a time, c’mon._

He starts with his left foot. Then right. Then left.

Right, left, right, left, right…

_ _

 

Ruben descends like a vengeful god as soon as he’s through the front door—blindfold off and eyes flashing in the dull firelight.

“Where the _fuck have you—”_

“Don’t touch me!” Usnavi snaps, holding out a staying hand before Ruben can get any closer. “Got clawed.”

Ruben freezes, mouth dropping open in shock. _“What?”_

Usnavi sags against the doorframe. “Ruben, querido, luz de mi vida _,_ can we argue about this later? After you fix up my arm?”

Ruben huffs, but points towards the fire before vanishing upstairs. Usnavi toes off his snow-covered boots and then carefully strips off his wet clothes, all the way down to his boxers. They’ll have to be sure to disinfect his shirts and coat. He shoves the weapons back in the closet and sets the backpack by the couch on his way to the fireplace.

The warmth is the best thing he’s ever felt. It’s an effort to not just climb inside and let the flames envelope him. His teeth are chattering and when he holds his injured arm up, he winces.

Three long furrows from just above his wrist to his elbow, but they don’t look deep. They’ll still scar - a nice addition to the collection he’s got going.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he announces when Ruben comes back downstairs with his arms full of supplies, gloves on his hands, and a surgical mask over his nose and mouth.

“I don’t care,” he says, voice muffled but still scathing. “Just because you’re immune doesn’t mean you can take risks, Usnavi. We _talked about this._ In great detail. Remember? _”_

“I know,” he says, placating. “I know.”

“Then how did this happen?”

Usnavi winces again. “I, uh, went downtown.”

Ruben’s gaze snaps back up to his face. “What? _Why?”_  

“You’ll see. Arm first?”

He holds it out, imploring, and Ruben takes it, pulling him forward a little harder than he thinks is necessary. _“Ow.”_

“Sorry,” Ruben says, gentling in spite of the anger Usnavi can still feel crackling in the air. “You’re a goddamn idiot, though.”

“I know,” Usnavi says again. “But hey, look on the bright side. More samples for you, right?”

Ruben snorts, loud even through the mask. “That is not a bright side.”

He’s still got his tools with him, though. Usnavi can see them piled on the couch.

“Yes, it is,” he insists and waits until Ruben is looking up at him again to waggle his eyebrows suggestively. “And later you can take more fluid samples, too.”

Ruben snorts again, but this time Usnavi can hear the amusement in it. “Stop it. I’m mad at you.”

“C’mon, you can never have too many fluid samples, Ruben.”

“ _Usnavi…”_

Usnavi heeds the hint of warning creeping into Ruben’s tone and shuts up. Sits patient and still through Ruben taking infected tissue samples and blood samples. Neither of them have any idea how or why he’s immune—a puzzle even Ruben and all his genius hasn’t been able to crack yet, though Usnavi thinks he’s close—and so he’s become something of a guinea pig. Even has a few scars on the inside of his arm where Ruben had to cut him with a scalpel when they ran out of needles. Ruben apologized constantly for a week, but Usnavi has never minded.

He likes feeling useful. It helps ease a little of the guilt over the fact that he’s alive when so many of his friends are dead, just because he won some hidden biological lottery.

After Ruben’s done, he disinfects the wound and bandages it, quick and efficient.

“There. Now tell me why you were downtown.”

Usnavi ducks around him to fish the cinnamon sticks and instant coffee out of the backpack and places them almost reverently in Ruben’s hands.

Ruben’s gaze softens immediately. “Usnavi…”

“There’s more, but this first.”

“Okay,” Ruben murmurs without protest.

_ _

 

Usnavi makes three cups of coffee, adds a pinch of cinnamon in at the end. They sit back in front of the fire and place Vanessa’s mug between them.

“I know it’s not the same,” Usnavi says. “But…” It’s the best tribute they have. He couldn’t find any cinnamon last year and it was devastating.

“It’s fine,” Ruben says, reaching to put a gentle hand on his knee. His fingers are warm and wonderful against Usnavi’s skin. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

They drink in mournful silence for a long moment.

“Hey, are your eyes okay?” Usnavi finally asks, realizing abruptly that they’ve been basking in front of the fire for a way longer time than normal. “And wait, where’s Sonny?”

Ruben nods. “Yeah, this kind of light doesn’t bother them that much. It’s fine for now. And Sonny is at the bodega for the night.”

Usnavi pauses, rewinds that. “Wait, what?”

Ruben rubs the back of his neck. “I might have bribed him with promising to work tomorrow so he could study and go book hunting. And don’t worry, we rigged up the portable heater and it should have enough juice to keep him from freezing to death overnight.”

Usnavi can feel a slow, gleeful smile blooming on his face. “So, we have the house to ourselves?”

“Yes,” Ruben says with an answering smile. “But I did promise Sonny, for the thousandth time, that we wouldn’t fuck on the mattress.”

“And I haven’t ruined us having a wild night of anniversary sex with my stupidity?” Usnavi asks for clarification.

“I thought about it,” Ruben confesses. “But then I couldn’t remember the last time we had a whole night to ourselves and now I don’t care. I’ll be mad at you again tomorrow.”

There’s a burst of elation in his chest like fireworks. “ _Yes.”_

He pulls Ruben in for a deep kiss, tasting cinnamon on his tongue. 

_ _

 

They eat dinner and dump the dishes in the sink to clean up tomorrow. Pause by the counter, though, to take turns drinking Vanessa’s cup of coffee.

“You sent the message, right?” Ruben asks him when they’ve finished and drifted back into the living room.

Usnavi nods. “Yes, did you listen to the broadcast tonight?  I missed it.”

Ruben shakes his head. “No response.”

Usnavi refuses to dwell on the swoop of disappointment in his stomach. Just nods and pull Ruben in again, bodies flush. A whole night to themselves … it almost feels like an embarrassment of riches.

“Well, what are we gonna do tonight? Got free run of the house and personally I think we should make the most of it.”

Ruben arches an eyebrow at him. “How many rounds are you expecting, exactly?”

Usnavi shrugs. “Four? We could probably aim for five.”

“Five, huh?”

Usnavi hums and kisses Ruben’s neck. He doesn’t care about the exhaustion still weighing on his bones, he wants to wring as much out of this as he can. It’s been _months_ since they could take their time—have anything other than hurried, stolen moments of intimacy. He can barely even remember the last time he saw Ruben completely naked.

“Yeah. So where are we starting, _querido?_ Upstairs? Here? Bathtub, for all I care, though that might be kinda uncomfortable…”

“Actually, speaking of bathtub I—” Ruben starts, but Usnavi suddenly remembers his gifts.

“Wait!” He scrambles over to the backpack and pulls out the chocolate and the card. “These are for you.”

Ruben’s eyes blow wide. “You found chocolate?”

“Yeah, even got that awful bitter shit you like.”

Ruben blinks and runs his fingers slow and reverent over the gifts. “Thank you.”

Usnavi shrugs and hurries to kiss Ruben again, because Ruben is tearing up and if one of them starts crying, that’s it. Night over. The grief is too close to the surface.

Ruben sinks into it and they’re making out, it’s great, but … “Wait, you mentioned the bathtub?”

“Shit, I almost forgot,” Ruben says and takes his hand. “C’mon.”

He leads Usnavi upstairs and into the master en suite. Usnavi freezes just inside the door, stunned. The bathtub is full of water, steaming hanging in the air, and Ruben has even set three little candles up in the window.

“Good, it’s still warm,” Ruben says, dipping his fingers into the water.

“How…?” Usnavi asks and wills himself not to cry.

“Melted a bunch of snow from the backyard. I know it’s not a designated day and we might be wasting resources, but, hey, special occasion, right? Do you like it?” Ruben looks over at him, nervous, and Usnavi shakes his head.

“It’s perfect. You’re incredible, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Ruben says and plucks the waistband of his boxers. “Now take these off, please.”

_ _

 

Usnavi’s pretty sure he’s in heaven. Normally baths are hurried affairs: stand in the tub, wash yourself off, use as little water as possible—all right, next person. They do it twice a week, the three of them, with a laundry day in between, but it never feels like enough.

Tonight, though, he’s actually _soaking_ in the warm water with Ruben pressed all up against his back and kissing his neck and touching him everywhere. It’s so good. His heart could give out in the next minute and he’d die happy.

Only problem is his body is really not getting with the program, lulled by the heat, and his eyes keep drifting closed.

“Usnavi,” Ruben says, gently amused, “please don’t fall asleep on me.”

“Sorry,” Usnavi says, sitting up a little more. “’S the bath. I’m good, though. I’m here.”

Ruben’s teeth scrape tender along his shoulder. “I’ve got an idea.”

And then Ruben’s hand is sliding down between his legs and Ruben’s slender fingers are curling around his cock.

Usnavi shudders and rocks his hips into the touch. “Fuck, yes, that is a _brilliant_ idea. More?”

Ruben’s lips are searing against his neck and Ruben’s hand is moving, slow enough to be torturous but still so perfect, and now Usnavi is _definitely_ in heaven.

 

_ _

They hit pause before they can get too worked up, because for all his teasing, Usnavi knows they’ve probably only got one round in them tonight and he doesn’t want it to begin and end in the bathtub.

So, they take turns washing each other’s hair and then pull the plug and shiver back into their boxers for the return trip to the fire.

They have two blankets that they figure they can spare and lay them out on the floor. Ruben looks gorgeous in the orange light—flames casting shadow patterns on his golden skin—and Usnavi’s chest suddenly feels too tight.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as he sinks down on top of Ruben, hips pressed together, and Ruben’s eyes—rich brown and soft with affection—blink up at him from beneath Ruben’s thick lashes. “I love you so much.”

Ruben makes a low sound of want and curls his fingers around the back of Usnavi’s neck. “I love you, too. Fuck me?”

Oh god, it’s been so _long_ since they’ve done that. Usnavi still can’t help teasing him. “Sure, I guess. If you really want to.”

 _“_ Pendejo _,”_ Ruben mutters, but he’s smiling and his eyes are dancing with it.

God, how Usnavi loves him 

_ _

 

See, the thing is, they haven't always been good at this. While they definitely had their own thing going on, they were used to that spilling into a larger relationship. Vanessa was there to ultimately balance them out and they each got things from her they couldn’t from each other.

So when she was _gone …_ well, it wasn’t pretty for a while. Both of them were jagged-edged with rage and grief and fear and they stopped being able to fit together. Ruben pushed him too far, wanting pain, wanting desperately to get out of his head, and Usnavi cracked beneath the pressure. Used that gushing wound to push Ruben too far in return.

It was ugly—like all the death and rot and chaos around them—and Usnavi isn’t proud of it. But they recovered, learned how to make themselves gentle again; how to temper the sharp, cutting pain of Vanessa’s absence into a dull ache. Figured out new, better ways to touch each other.

Which means that tonight, Usnavi is confident as he takes his time opening Ruben up—gets him loud in a way they can so rarely allow themselves to be and stores up every sound he makes somewhere in his heart for later.

Sinks into him slow and careful and trembles with how fucking _good_ it feels: Ruben hot all around him. He rests his forehead against Ruben’s, whines into his mouth, and wishes he could get closer still. Slide past Ruben’s skin and curl up around his heart to feel the beat of it, safe and whole.

“Eres tan buena _,”_ he hiccups, burying his face in Ruben’s neck as they start to move together. “Se siente tan bien, eres increíble, tan hermoso, te amo te amo te quiere mucho _…”_

Ruben curls fingers into Usnavi’s hair and answers with a quiet groan and a roll of his hips and it’s perfect, it’s perfect, Usnavi wants to say here forever, just like this, tangled up in each other.

But they’re both a little frantic, coiling tighter and tighter as they kiss sloppy and filthy and pick up the pace, driving each other towards the edge. Usnavi tumbles over first, muffling his shout in Ruben’s shoulder. Ruben holds him close and lets him shake through the aftershocks. Slides his lips over Usnavi’s sweaty temple and they sear like a brand.

“I’ll take care of you,” Usnavi promises. “Just … give me a minute.”

“It’s fine _,_ cariño,” Ruben murmurs, though he’s twitching, restless. “Take your time.”

Usnavi’s careful pulling out. Kisses his way down Ruben’s body, pausing to lick gentle over the bite scar on his shoulder before continuing, and spends some time on his hips and the inside of his thighs.

“Usnavi,” Ruben huffs in protest, tugging on his hair.

“Hey, you said I could take my time.”

“I rescind that. _Please,_ babe— _ah.”_

Ruben cuts off as Usnavi takes him into his mouth, cursing. It’s been a long, long time since they’ve done this, either, and it only takes a few bobs of Usnavi’s head before Ruben is coming hot and bitter on his tongue.

He sucks until Ruben is spent and shivering, then rests his cheek on Ruben’s stomach, both of them catching their breath. He would be content to stay here by the fire, maybe even try to work up to a second go, but Ruben’s fingers drag through his hair and he whispers, sad, “Usnavi, my eyes, I’m so sorry…”

“They hurting?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, hold on.”

He pulls his boxers back on and gets Ruben’s blindfold from upstairs. The rest of the house is going cold as the fire dies, so he grabs sweaters for them, too.

“Here,” he says, helping Ruben into a sitting position, and ties the cloth on. Lets Ruben adjust it, as usual. “Let me get us cleaned up, yeah?”

They still have some water in the jug by the sink and he wets a tattered washcloth.

“It’s gonna be cold, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Ruben says, but Usnavi is still careful wiping between his legs. “Sorry, we didn’t manage a wild night.”

“Hey,” Usnavi pokes him in the shoulder. “We’re both old men, here. And this was perfect, querido _._ Best we’ve had in ages.”

“That’s kinda sad, isn’t it?” Ruben says as Usnavi helps him into boxers and a sweater.

“The world’s gone to shit, everything’s sad. But you’re focusing on the ‘in ages’ part instead of the _‘best’_ part and you should stop that.”

Ruben laughs and kisses him on the cheek. “Sorry, sorry. You’re right. It was perfect, I’m thoroughly satisfied, and I love you.”

“Good,” Usnavi declares, squeezing Ruben’s hand. “I love you, too.”

They dump the blankets in the laundry pile and bank the fire. The cold sets in almost immediately, draping over the house like a frigid blanket, and they sprint up the stairs as fast as Ruben’s able.

“Clothes, clothes, clothes,” Usnavi chants, rushing into his layers before helping Ruben with his.

In their cocoon of blankets, Ruben pulls him close.

“I miss her, Usnavi,” he whispers in confession. “So fucking much.”

Usnavi swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and curls gloved fingers over Ruben’s side. “I know. I miss her, too.”

Even though he’s exhausted from the rollercoaster of the day and pleasantly sated, sleep is a long time coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are deeply appreciated and always motivating. Or come chat to me on [tumblr](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com).


	3. Chapter 3

_Palo Alto, California_

The world outside is tinged gold with the evening sun when Vanessa wakes. She watches it pour through the cracks in the blinds—dust dancing wild in the wide beams—and tells herself that she needs to get out of bed. She asked for a late shift at the station so she wouldn’t have to spend today like she did last year: a drunk, angry mess that Nina eventually gave up on comforting.

Left to her own devices, she’d gone out and picked up a stranger that was the wrong height and had green eyes instead of brown, and nearly took him to bed. She’d been desperate to forget, just for a few hours, about the searing, bone-cutting ache in her ribcage—the gaping hole torn in her heart where Usnavi and Ruben should be.

In the end, she couldn’t go through with it. Kicked the guy out halfway through and spent the rest of the night curled up under her covers, muffling her sobs into the sweater she stole from Ruben before coming out to California.

This year is going to be different, though. She’s determined—doesn’t want to disappoint Usnavi and Ruben again.

(Though sometimes, in her more vicious, broken moments, she seethes over the fact that they at least have each other while she’s stuck here all alone. And in her rare, insecure moments, she wonders if they miss her with the same fierceness that she does them or if they’ve simply shrunk down to a couple, written her off as dead, and moved on.)

She dresses quickly, shivering a little in the cool of the room. California winter never gets as ruthless as New York, but it’s still been rainy and unpleasant these past few days—a cold front blowing in off the ocean. Her final layer is Ruben’s sweater. It’s a little big on her, stretched even more since she first stuffed in her suitcase two years ago; the color has dulled from maroon to brown, except for the bright yellow patch on one of the elbows; and it stopped smelling of Ruben two weeks in. But she doesn’t care about any of that. It’s still one of the most precious things she owns and she’ll keep it even after it becomes rags in her hands.

The second precious thing is the turquoise butterfly pendant Usnavi gave her for their one year anniversary, long before Ruben came into the picture. She still remembers the flush on his cheeks and the excited light in his eyes when he put the terribly wrapped package in her hands—the swooping sensation in her stomach when she realized how much it must have cost him to get.

The realization that stunned her frozen as she watched it swing on the chain:  _he’s it, it’s gonna be him, right up until the end._

She’d loved him so much in that moment.

(She misses him so much right now.)

The third precious thing is her journal. She’d never been one to write down her thoughts Before—didn’t have the patience for teenage diaries—but she’s filled page after page in the last two years with everything she wants to tell them when she finally sees them again.

Some of it is inane. Stupid shit like:

_I cut my hair today. All the way up to my chin, and I wish I could see your faces. Bet you ten dollars Usnavi would faint, Ruben. I told him once that I’d never cut my hair._

_I miss your coffee, Usnavi. Almost as much as I miss you. All we have now is instant and it’s shit. _

_I started working at the radio station today. I’m actually pretty good at it. Apparently I’ve got a great “on air” voice. They told me I sound “soothing.” I laughed so hard._

_So I’m building a radio from scratch, just to see if I can and because there’s nothing else to do around here. I’m actually pretty good at building shit (who knew?) but I’d really love your brain right now, Ruben. You and Usnavi are the math people in this relationship._

_You guys should see Nina. She’s seriously like Superwoman. Got everyone here listening to her. We’re getting a ton of refugees from out east and she’s put together a committee to keep everything organized. They’re opening up the university campus to utilize the dorms and she’s bent the whole freaking college administration to her will. Pretty sure they’re going to crown her mayor or something any day now._

_I check every group of new arrivals, but you’re never there._

_I’ve started offering haircuts in exchange for goods (Nina’s idea). Can’t believe I worked so damn hard to stop working in a salon only to end up opening my own. I mean, it’s not really a salon. It’s just some chairs in what used to be a restaurant, but I still think Daniela is laughing at me. Wherever she is. If she’s still out there with you, tell her to fuck off. _

Some of it is sad:

_We haven’t heard anything from New York in six months. People are saying that signal towers might be out. Other people are saying that it’s because no one’s left to talk to us, but I can’t believe that. You’re both okay. Right?_

_I miss you so fucking much ~~no one said love could HURT like this~~_

_I tried to come for you, I swear I did, but they closed the city so fast and all the planes are grounded and they’re rationing gas and it’s all a fucking mess. I’m so sorry. Please be okay, please be safe, I can’t lose either one of you. I’ll find a way, I swear._

_~~I kissed someone else and I’m so sorry but it HURTS and it isn’t fair you two have each other and you’re three thousand miles away and I miss your lips and your skin against mine and I don’t know what to do I’m so lonely~~ Happy Anniversary. _

_Nina wants to pin your names on one of the memorial walls, but I won’t let her. We just had a huge fight about it. She says that I need to let go and move on. It’s been two years and everyone back home is dead. She’s already put Benny and Carla and Daniela and Sonny and Mr. and Mrs. Rosario up there and she keeps insisting that you both deserve a place, too, but you’re not dead. You AREN’T dead. I would feel it if you were. And maybe that’s stupid, but I’m pretty sure that if either of you died, all the rest of the air would go out of the world, even three thousand miles away._

_~~I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you~~ _

Some of it is stuff she wants to ask them:

_Do you guys have power out there? Are you getting enough to eat? Has one of you had to learn how to shoot a gun? I feel like Ruben would be better at it, but I might be wrong. Usnavi, you were always deadly with a slingshot when you were a kid._

_Do you still celebrate our anniversary? What about our birthdays? I managed to make a little cake for the both of you, even though it’s only Usnavi’s birthday today. Rationing, you know. It’s a bitch._

_~~Do you do the things with each other that I used to do? Have you learned how to replace me in bed? Or do you miss me there, too? Do you still think about me when you fu~~ _

_It’s winter now. Are you warm enough? If you find an axe you can take trees from Inwood and Fort Tryon Park. Have you thought of that?_

_Are you trying to send messages to me like I am to you? I send one every other night at the top of my shift. Nine p.m. your time. Are you listening? Can you hear me? ~~I miss the sound of your voices so much~~_

But most of it is her effort to hold on to hope:

_Every time I go to the coast, Usnavi, I hear you complain about how the ocean is on the wrong side and I laugh. I think you’d like all the palm trees, though. Once you’re done telling me how weird they look._

_I found an antique bookshop and don’t tell anyone but I stole a copy of Edgar Allan Poe’s complete tales and poems. It’s creepy as fuck, Ruben. You’d love it._

_I’ve gotten too used to the sun, amores, you’d laugh at me. It’s rained for three days straight and I’m grumbling like a crotchety abuela. Nina is even worse, though._

_Someone at the station decided to play salsa music tonight. Remember that time we danced in my studio like it was our own little club and nearly broke a lamp? Nina and I danced on the roof of our apartment building with my portable radio but it wasn’t quite the same. I don’t know if you still get music from your stations out there, but I hope you’re dancing, too._

_Is it weird, but I actually kind of miss the elevated train? I mean, I couldn’t hear it after I moved to West Fourth and I was there for two years, so I don’t know why I’m missing it now. Our brains are so strange, huh? ~~Maybe it’s just home that I’m missing~~_

_I found a hat almost exactly like yours, Usnavi, but I can’t pull it off nearly as well as you do so I gave it to one of the refugee kids that arrived yesterday. He loves the hell out of it._

_I’ve decided to teach myself to draw, now that I’m done with the radio. Any advice, Ruben? You were pretty good. You always blushed so cute when I told you so._

_When I next see you again, I’m going to hold you both for hours and never let go. ~~Maybe then the bed will stop feeling too big even with Nina in it~~_

Tonight, she takes it out from its coveted place at the bottom of her dresser drawer and opens the cracking spine. She’s been writing as small as she can, but she’s nearly out of room. Hopefully she can barter for a new one soon.

_Happy Anniversary again, mis amores. Three years, can you believe it? ~~We’ve spent longer apart than we were together.~~ I hope you’re both safe and that you have time to celebrate. I can almost picture you, if I close my eyes: around the table in Usnavi’s apartment—smiling and sated, your hair sticking up everywhere. Hickeys down your neck, Ruben, and Usnavi shirtless, even though it’s cold, because he wants our hands on his skin as much as possible. _

_You’d cook for us, Usnavi, like you always do, and we’d go back to bed after and not leave for hours._

_It would be a perfect day._

She can’t bring herself to write more, otherwise she’ll start crying and she won’t stop until sunrise. Besides, she should conserve paper, anyway.

She’s just putting the journal back when she hears the front door open. Room is scarce, nowadays, with so many people pouring in from the east, fleeing the ever-spreading virus. Because of this, her and Nina have ended up in a small one bedroom close to campus and the radio station.  It’s several steps down from the student house that Nina was living in Before, but still the biggest place Vanessa’s ever called her own.

She makes her side of the double bed quickly and darts out into the living area to give an exhausted Nina a big hug.

“Hey,” Nina says, slumping in her arms. She looks half asleep already. “You doing okay, V?”

Vanessa pets her curly hair. “I’m fine. You should go to bed. I’ll leave some dinner on the stove.”

Nina hums. “You working tonight?”

“Yep.”

Vanessa turns, gently pushing Nina towards the bedroom and swallowing guilty relief. She never feels like talking on special days, but she knows that Nina understands. She gets quiet and distant on her parents’ anniversary and birthdays, and on Benny’s birthday. And she also knows that Nina is silently thankful that her and Benny broke up long before this. That she isn’t like Vanessa—hopelessly pining over long-dead ghosts.

And Vanessa doesn’t begrudge her that. Love is illogical. Hope, even more so.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she says.

Nina kisses her on the cheek—lips dry against her skin. “I’ll make you breakfast.”

“It’s a date,” Vanessa says, only slightly strangled, and watches Nina stagger into the bedroom, hoping that she’ll allow herself a good few hours of sleep.

She tends to run herself ragged, trying to help everyone else. It reminds Vanessa painfully of Usnavi sometimes—the slump of Nina’s shoulders and the dark circles under her eyes. But she’s always held her tongue. Nina pushes herself to her limits to deal with her grief, hands busy equals head quiet, and Vanessa gets it. In that way, she’s similar to Usnavi, too.

Vanessa heads over the kitchen area and heats up a can of tomato soup on the stove. Rationing has been getting stricter recently, which means this will have to be enough for both of them. Everyone has gotten used to going without, though, and they still have it better than the eastern half of the country. Everyone here still gets power for a good portion of the day—thanks to California’s already established dependence on renewable energy—and radio stations have worked hard to provide programs for entertainment as well as information, in the absence of television and the internet. Cars have all been decommissioned, with gas going strictly to government and relief efforts, but she’s a New Yorker and she’s never minded walking.

Sure, it’s crowded everywhere and violence sparks up pretty often because everyone is vying for limited resources and currency means jack shit, but she’s lucky, she knows that. She hears horror stories from other parts of the country, remembers the radio silence from the East Coast, and knows she’s goddamn lucky.

Which means that even though she’s never been religious in her life, she prays for Usnavi and Ruben’s safety almost every day and once a week, she follows in Abuela Claudia’s footsteps and lights candles for them (and everyone else back home, when she can afford it) at the local church.

(She and Nina tried to leave, in the early days. They were fully prepared to steal a car and attempt the drive back east—figured they could do it in three days if they didn’t stop to sleep anywhere. But the National Guard closed the city almost immediately, no one in or out, and cell service crashed, making it impossible for her to call anyone back home. And so she was stuck watching news reports on televisions in bars and cafes—Nina’s hand clutched tight in hers as they stared in horror at the scenes unfolding: overflowing hospitals, streets stacked with the dead, people mutating into monstrosities … it felt unreal. Like she was suddenly living in a movie.

After that, Nina threw herself into efforts in the community here and stopped trying to get home, especially after the reports ceased all together. Vanessa still tried, once or twice. Nearly got herself arrested before Nina put her foot down and begged her to stop.

And it was Nina holding her close and whispering tearfully, “please, V, I can’t lose you, too,” that finally made her relent. Usnavi and Ruben would be okay—each so brilliant in their own ways and both of them so strong—and they would find a way back to each other eventually.

For now, Nina needed her and Vanessa wasn’t selfish enough to abandon her.)

She pulls her coat over Ruben’s sweater, checks to make sure she has her knife, the homemade pepper spray she cooked up ( _thank you, Ruben, for the random chemistry lessons),_ and a few ration coupons in her bag. Locks the door behind her and walks down the four flights of stairs before stepping out into the night. The sun has almost set and clouds are rolling in off the ocean. She pulls her hood up over her cropped hair and stuffs her hands in her pockets. Usually it’s a short walk to the station but tonight she takes a detour to the church ten minutes away.  

The priest, Father Benson, waves from where he’s sweeping along the edges of the sanctuary, and she drops one of her ration cards in the donation bucket before picking up two candles. While the church doesn’t demand that anyone pay to light candles, she knows they distribute the cards to needy families and she wants to do her part.

(Plus, Father Benson has always greeted her with a smile and sometimes a friendly pat on the arm and never once commented during the times she’s broke down in one of the pews, crying as she pressed her forehead to the wood and clutched a clawed hand over her heart—wanting to reach in and tear it out just to stop it hurting.)

She lights Usnavi’s candle first and sets it on the alter, then Ruben’s right next to it.

 _“_ Feliz aniversario, mis amores. Te extraño tanto. Por favor, estés a salvo. Cuidar el uno del otro. Te veré pronto _…”_ Her voice cracks and she angrily swipes at her burning eyes.

No crying today.

 _“_ Los amo tanto a ambos _.”_

She gets up before she can shed anymore tears, leaving their candles flickering together in the dim light—the flames almost intertwining.

 

_ _

 

It’s raining by the time she makes it to the station and she hangs her wet coat on the rack just inside the door. They're pretty small, compared to some of the bigger operations she's heard of in San Francisco and Sacramento, where the what's left of the federal government has relocated to, but the one studio is tidy and the equipment in good working condition. They've collected little knick-knacks to hang on the white walls - old posters, a photo someone took of the ocean, and (Vanessa's contribution) a framed periodic table of the elements - and everyone keeps the office in good order. 

“Hiya, V!” calls Javier from said office. “I’m just headin’ out.” Sometimes, if they’re busy, he works the night shift with her, but things are quiet right now and she asked if she could be alone.

She likes Javier, though. He’s a few years older than her—probably even a year or two older than Ruben—and he used to teach at the university. Computer science, she thinks. Or maybe astronomy. Now he’s the manager of this station, in addition to volunteering on campus whenever he can. He’s the most chill person she’s ever met, and she likes him a lot, but he has big brown eyes that remind her of Usnavi and Ruben too much sometimes.

At least the similarities end there. He’s tall and lanky and clean-shaven, with razor sharp cheekbones and hair that curls down around his ears. He hugs her now, on his way out the door, squeezing her tight and lifting her almost off her feet - same as he always does.

“Messages and reports are on the desk. Good luck!”

And then he’s gone and she’s blissfully alone. She seats herself at the table, puts on the oversized headphones, and runs a quick sound check on the board spread out in front of her.

There is a decent stack of reports and messages to sift through, all piled together and written out using as little paper as possible.  

The first segment of her night is reports. New rationing rules, updates from the research facility out in Nevada (which usually just consists of: “we don’t have a cure yet, folks, but we’re trying, we promise!”), a few things to relay on a private channel out to Sacramento (refugee reports, requests for more supplies, etc.), and general information about the state of things further east (though they don’t know what’s going on past about Colorado, right now, and haven’t heard anything whatsoever from the East Coast in over a year).

Then come the personal messages for people looking for their loved ones that she dutifully reads, looping through them numerous times over the course of several hours, interspersing them with music if she can.  

(“Roger Forrester, Julianne and Ben are waiting for you in Palo Alto.”

“Stephanie Louise Carver, your husband, Theo, wants you to know that he is safe in San Francisco.”

“Sujin Park, your girlfriend, Megan, is waiting for you in Palo Alto.”

“Jeet Bharara, your father wishes you a very happy birthday. Please come find him in Sacramento as soon as you can.”)

She usually finishes with any new reports that might have come in over the course of her shift and, if there is time, a song or two for people to greet the morning. Then she stumbles home as the sun is rising, crawls into bed, and doesn't emerge for at least six hours. 

Tonight, though, she starts the broadcast with a personal message of her own. It should be nine p.m. in New York City.

“Usnavi De La Vega and Ruben Marcado, Vanessa Otilia García is waiting for you in Palo Alto. Happy Anniversary, my loves. Please, if you can, come and find me. I miss you both so much, I…”

She cuts herself off, swallowing down the rest of her tangled words. And if she has to take a moment to collect herself—one hand over her mouth to stifle her rising sobs and the other clutched so tight around her butterfly necklace that the metal digs deep into her skin…

Well, no one is around to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vanessa is actually also a species of [butterfly](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vanessa_\(butterfly\)), hence the necklace Usnavi gives her. 
> 
> Comments are always greatly appreciated and highly motivating. :) Please also feel free to come chat to me on [tumblr](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have discovered a deep love for Sonny in writing this story.

**_New York City_ **

 

“And you’ll be careful, right?”

“God, chillax. How many times have I done this now?”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna worry.”

“Hypocrite. You went and got yourself _clawed_ yesterday.”

Usnavi swivels to where Ruben is seated on the couch, wishing that Ruben could see the look of deep betrayal currently being aimed at him. “You _told_ him about that?”

“Yep,” Ruben says with absolutely no remorse.

Sonny pokes Usnavi hard in the shoulder. “You two are the only family I got left. You don’t keep shit like that from me, okay?”

“ _Ow_ ,” Usnavi huffs. The rest of his deflection dies on his tongue when he sees the genuine fear in Sonny’s eyes.

He forgets, sometimes, that his cousin is only eighteen. He’s a firecracker in a way even Usnavi has never been and it often feels like he’s adapted the best to this strange, nightmare world they’ve found themselves in. He was the first one to press a salvaged gun into Usnavi hands and set up cans in the backyard, insisting that everyone learn how to shoot. When Ruben and Usnavi were falling apart, he was the one who cooked every night and he was the one who finally sat them both down on the couch and yelled at them to sort their shit out because he wasn’t losing them.

But he also shut himself up in his room for three days after Benny died—only emerging when Usnavi (still reeling from grief, from the wounds on his body that weren’t making him sick while Benny’s _were,_ from Benny’s big hands cupping his face and Benny’s voice murmuring, “ _it’s okay, little homie, don’t get so upset.”)_ pressed his forehead against the door and begged him to come out. Even then, he didn’t eat until Ruben practically spoon-fed him soup, and after that he spent two hours crying into Usnavi’s shoulder before switching to Ruben’s.

Sonny goes scavenging in libraries and ravaged bookstores, bringing home everything from biographies to poetry to old math textbooks that he carefully pours over, scribbling endless notes in the margins. Sonny spends two afternoons a week with Ruben, helping in the lab or listening raptly as Ruben walks him through chemistry lessons, using chalk to scribble diagrams on the floorboards by lantern light. Sonny has taught himself to care for all of Ruben’s plants and how to make various medicines from each for the days Ruben gets overwhelmed or the tremor in his hand is so bad he can’t work. Sonny undercharges everyone that comes in the bodega—sometimes even gives goods away without asking for anything in exchange (and tunes out every single one of Usnavi’s lectures about not being a charity). Sonny dutifully pins new pictures to the memorial wall outside the bodega and listens intently to every accompanying story. (Usnavi once came back home from a scavenger run to find Sonny crying with a complete stranger about her recently-deceased sister.) Sonny is trying to teach Ruben to freestyle and sings along with the static-y radio, filling in the gaps in the songs from memory—or humming along with Usnavi if he doesn’t know the words.

Sonny is eighteen and still kind and so hungry for knowledge it makes Usnavi’s heart hurt. Sonny is eighteen and _terrified_ of being left alone.

“I’m sorry,” Usnavi says quietly, pulling Sonny into a tight hug. “I’ll try to be more careful, I promise.”

“You always say that,” Sonny huffs but he buries his face in Usnavi’s shoulder and hugs him back hard.

“I know, but I’ll try. Neither of us are gonna leave you. You just gotta promise not to leave us, too. So be careful, okay?”

Sonny pulls back and nods. “I will.”

“Take the rifle,” Usnavi insists.

Ah, there’s the expected eye roll. “Okay, mom.”

Usnavi swats his arm and feels their normal dynamic settling back into place. Sonny elbows him and then darts over to the couch to fold Ruben up in a hug, too. “Make sure he doesn’t do anythin’ stupid?”

Ruben runs affectionate, shaky fingers through Sonny’s hair. “Won’t let him out of my sight.”

“Good.” He points at Usnavi. “ _Behave._ ”

“Okay, mom,” Usnavi fires back, biting his cheek to keep back a smile.

Sonny shakes his head and goes to dig his supplies out of the closet: hat, coat, scarf, gloves, rifle, and backpack.

“Later, losers,” he says and tumbles out of the door with a wave.

Usnavi watches him from the window as he makes his way down the street, fighting the knot of worry jumping around in his stomach. “He’s gonna get himself killed over a book.”

Ruben snorts from the couch. “You nearly got yourself killed over chocolate yesterday so you’re not allowed to talk.”

Usnavi moves over to him, sinking into his lap and pressing their foreheads together. Ruben sighs into the touch—hands automatically sliding up to Usnavi’s waist to steady him.  “Ru _ben,_ are you actually still mad at me?”

“No,” Ruben grumbles after a moment. “Maybe. A little.”

Usnavi doesn’t bother arguing with him or trying to change his mind, just cups his cheek, slipping gentle fingers under the edge of the blindfold to stroke under his eye. “Okay.”

Ruben’s allowed his frustration—Usnavi’s learned to let him have it. Better it be directed at him, anyway, than inward, where it twists and morphs and deepens into poison. Ruben not eating or sleeping or moving from his makeshift lab, so desperate to fix the brokenness around him that he nearly kills himself trying. Ruben coming to him with failure calcified into loathing and saying _“hurt me”_ like the words don’t shred Usnavi’s heart to ribbons in his chest.

“How about I work the store, querido?” he suggests now, firmly locking the memories back up. (Ruben is so much better now. They both are.) “You can get some more work done here.”

Ruben frowns and moves a hand up to rest careful over the gauze wrapped around Usnavi’s arm.  Knows exactly where the wound is even without his sight. “You need to rest.”

Usnavi bites his lip against a familiar swell of affection and leans in closer. “C’mon, ‘s just a scratch. You know I’ll climb the walls if I’m stuck in the house all day.”

“How about we both go?” Ruben offers in compromise and _yes,_ that’s actually perfect. They haven’t had a whole day together since … Christ, he actually can’t remember.

“Sure.”

He nuzzles Ruben’s cheek and kisses the corner of his mouth before getting up. Ruben accepts the hand Usnavi offers, which means he isn’t _really_ that mad. Ruben genuinely pissed off at him usually translates to locking himself up in the lab and rejecting every offer of help, even if that means taking twice as long to do something.

They each pile on an extra sweater before reaching for their coats, because there’s no telling how long the battery in the portable heater will last before they need to juice it again, and most of the windows at the bodega got smashed in ages ago.

Usnavi packs his sewing kit and his wrecked shirt, too. Then, after a moment of consideration, adds some of Sonny’s socks and the sweater Ruben managed to char a hole in two weeks ago. Things tend to be a hell of a lot quieter in the winter so there’s a chance they won’t have anyone stop by.  Plenty of time to catch up on some domestic stuff.

They walk the five blocks up to the bodega hand in hand—Ruben’s hood pull down over his face and Usnavi guiding him around any obstacles they come across with experienced ease. (“Hole in the street, step left twice.” “Snow’s over ankle deep here, go slow.” “Patch of ice on the sidewalk, one big step to the right and you should be good.”)

Ruben listens to each instruction, trusting Usnavi to keep him safe, and Usnavi squeezes his hand hard—a little overwhelmed, as always, by how much of himself Ruben is willing to put in his hands.

When they reach the bodega, Usnavi unlocks the grate and gets the portable heater running while Ruben settles on a stool behind the counter, already pulling out his notebook. He’s been a little distracted all morning—got up early to test the samples he took from Usnavi the night before—so Usnavi gives him space, occupying himself with clearing the area around the memorial wall and straightening any pictures that might have gone askew from the wind. Most of it is names that they’ve painted on: Daniela, Carla, and Pete right at the top; Benny halfway down; the Rosarios just after him, though they left in search of Nina so who knows if they’re actually gone; a bunch of strangers in between them. Refugees who fled up here from the mess downtown.

(He’ll never add Vanessa’s name.)

Occasionally people bring pictures, though, to nail into the brick. He doesn’t know any of the faces, but he always touches them with careful reverence, feeling the same hush you always get walking between the graves of a cemetery.

(They’re gonna have to start on their third wall, soon, but he doesn’t dwell on that.)

Someone laid a bouquet of dried flowers down overnight and he collects all of wayward petals into a bowl that he leaves nestled in the snow.

The next step is to pin up thick sheets over all the windows. They don’t always do much to keep out the cold, but they’re good for blocking light. Regulars know to knock to announce their presence. Anyone who doesn’t is liable to get a baseball bat swung at them as soon as they step through the door.

It’s the only alarm system they’ve got left, since the bell broke ages ago.

“Okay, we’re set!” he calls to Ruben as he gets the last sheet in place and the bodega is swathed in darkness.

Ruben unties his blindfold, folding up on the counter next to him, and Usnavi lights their lone lantern. With the register gone, there’s plenty of room for him to sit cross-legged on the counter while Ruben works at the other end—the lantern between them. The radio still has some juice left in it and Usnavi laughs when jazz filters out of the speakers after Ruben turns it on.

“Fucking Leon.”

“It’s always jazz,” Ruben mutters, but without any real discontent.

He loses himself right back in his work, anyway, scribbling equations with the tiny pencil stub he’s been using since his pen ran out of ink.

Usnavi adds pens to his metal Scavenger Run list and hums along to the saxophone solo as he gets to work on the mending, starting with the rip in his coat. His sore arm makes it a little hard, but he takes that as a challenge. And absolutely no one is judging the state of people’s clothes anymore, so who cares if it looks messier than usual.

They whittle away hours in comfortable silence—only interrupted once by someone looking for white rice flour and some canned vegetables. Usnavi trades with him for a tin of powdered milk and a set of fingerless gloves. Adds flour to his list as the dude leaves, and then sinks back into the quiet calm.

The heater is slowly dying and he’s made it all the way to Ruben’s sweater (which is being _difficult_ and keeps fraying) when Ruben stands bolt upright, knocking over his stool and almost taking out the lantern with his elbow. Usnavi nearly tips backwards off the counter in surprise.

“What?” he says in confusion, dropping the sweater to keep himself steady. “Are you okay?”

Ruben is staring at his notebook like he’s seen the face of God in its pages. Usnavi is a breath away from freaking out. “Ruben?”

“I have it,” Ruben whispers.

“Have _what?”_ Usnavi asks around the sudden swooping in his stomach—the world yawning open beneath his feet.

“The cure,” Ruben says, and all the air goes out of the room.

It’s weird, hearing him say that in the middle of the bodega on a boring Thursday afternoon, with _jazz_ as an underlying track. Ruben’s been chasing this for two years, and Usnavi doesn’t know why but he was expecting more fanfare. The sky to open up and trumpets to sound or something.

“You’re sure?” he asks, though he’s never once doubted Ruben’s brilliance.

“Yes,” Ruben says without hesitation. His expression crumples suddenly and he rakes a hand through his hair. “But I can’t _test it._ I don’t have the right equipment and there’s no way to get it. Not here.”

“So what—”

“We have to go to the station,” Ruben decides, steamrolling right over him. “Now.”

“Now?” Usnavi echoes, hopping off the counter to peer through the sheets. The sky is darkening outside. They’ll never make it all the way to Linwood before sunset. “Are you sure?”

“ _Yes,”_ Ruben says impatiently, already halfway into his coat and trying to stuff his notebook into his ragged satchel at the same time. “ _Vamonos.”_

Usnavi jolts into action, dousing the lantern and stuffing his mending back in his pack. He pries the sheets free at record speed, pausing on his way to the storeroom to adjust Ruben’s blindfold for him with one hand. Sheets safely in place, they shut the door and pull the grate down. Ruben is too impatient to wait for Usnavi to fiddle with the sticky lock and by the time he’s finally turned the key, Ruben is halfway down the street.

“ _Ice_!” Usnavi yells in alarm, scrambling after him and tugging him left just in time. “Lots of ice! Jesus, slow down.”

“No time,” Ruben huffs and Usnavi squeezes his hand hard.

“You’re no good to anyone if you break your neck on the way there, querido _._ Slow _down._ Let me help you.”

Ruben grunts in frustration but slows his pace, letting Usnavi take the lead.

Usnavi decides that just this once instructions and Ruben’s independence can wait and drags him up the street at a run.

 

_ _

 

It’s pitch black out by the time they make it to the radio station—because Usnavi insisted they stop by the house to leave a note for Sonny and pick up the pistol and baseball bat—and a girl he’s never seen before answers the door after they spend nearly five minutes pounding on it and yelling at the top of their lungs.

“What they hell do you want?” she demands, leveling her own bat at them. She’s a tiny wisp of a thing, looks barely older than Sonny, but Usnavi’s pretty sure she could take them both out if she wanted.

“I need to talk to the research facility in Nevada,” Ruben says, uncaring of the bat inches from his face. “Immediately.”

The girl scoffs. “Yeah right, pal. We haven’t received any messages from out there for months. You’re better off sending smoke signals or some shit.”

“Let him try?” Usnavi asks and digs around the chocolate he knows is still in his bag, pulling out one of the bars and offering it to her. “Please?” 

“I don’t like dark,” she snaps, but takes the bar anyway and waves them inside.

She eventually introduces herself as Naomi while she’s running a sound check and tuning into what is supposed to be the research facility’s frequency. Usnavi shakes her hand and tries not to wince at her crushing grip. She must’ve been hanging out with Carlos and Leon.

“What’s with the blindfold?” she asks as Ruben settles into the chair and puts on the headphones.

“Very long story,” Usnavi says and she shrugs.

“Fine, whatever. Go ahead, dude.”

Ruben leans into the mike, curling the fingers of his shaking right hand into a fist in his lap. When he speaks, his voice is clear and even, “Nevada Research Facility, this is Dr. Ruben Marcado from New York City. I have critical information to relay, do you copy?”

Static.

Ruben blows out a long breath and tries again. “Nevada Research Facility, this is Dr. Ruben Marcado from New York City. I have critical information to relay, do you copy?”

More static. Ruben’s shoulders slump.

Naomi shrugs again. “Told you.”

“Please, let me keep trying?”

“Man, I’ve got a program to run here…”

Usnavi grimaces and fishes the M&Ms out, placing them next to her on the table. She frowns, contemplative.

“I prefer peanut ones.” To Ruben, “you’ve got one hour.”

 

_ _

 

In the end, they stay until nearly two in the morning and Usnavi trades his gloves, some spare ammo, and the rest of his chocolate supply to keep buying them more time. Ruben talks himself hoarse, but the static remains continuous—not even a crackle of voices to give them hope.

“Querido _,”_ Usnavi finally says, crouching by the chair and placing a hand on Ruben’s arm, “they’re not gonna answer.”

“Fuck,” Ruben hiccups—some of his calm finally cracking.

“Let’s go home,” Usnavi suggests. “We’ll think of something else.”

“I’m sorry,” Naomi says as Ruben stands and sounds genuine about it.  

“Thanks for your time,” Usnavi says, guiding Ruben out the door.

It’s a silent walk back—Ruben’s fingers threaded tight through his, even though he doesn't need the blindfold—and when they step through the front door, Sonny whirls to face them, in the middle of pacing circles around the living room.

“Where the _hell_ have you been? You said a few hours in your note!”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Usnavi says, trying not to let his exhaustion show.

“What’s going on?” Sonny presses. “Why did you go out to the station? Has something happened? Are you both okay? Did you hear anythin’ from Nina or Van—”

“I figured out the cure,” Ruben cuts in, mercifully stopping the torrent of questions.

“What? _Really?”_ Sonny says, turning to gape at him.

Ruben nods and Sonny’s eyes go wide and awed. “Holy _shit.”_

“Yeah, except we can’t raise them on the radio,” Usnavi says, unzipping his coat.

“Which is why we’re going out there,” Ruben says and Usnavi freezes.

He must have heard that wrong.

“Come again?” Sonny says. “Going out where? To _Nevada?_ ”

Ruben nods, glancing around the room. “We’ll need to pack tonight and leave first thing in the morning.”

Sonny is gaping, speechless, so Usnavi steps up to the plate.

“Ruben, querido _,_ you can’t be serious. We’re … we’re talking about over two thousand miles here. On _foot._ We’d never make it.”

Ruben crosses his arms over his chest, jaw clenched the way it always is when he’s bracing for a fight. “This is the only way.”

“We don’t know what’s out there!” Usnavi argues. “We can survive here. Out there? None of us can hunt, who knows what kind of supplies we’ll be able to find, and it’s the dead of winter. We’ll be dead within two weeks. _One_ week. It’s _suicide.”_

“I have to try!” Ruben fires back, eyes flashing. “I can’t just sit here with this information. This could change everything! This could save whatever is left of us. I can’t just give up and not try.”

“Then let’s wait until summer,” Usnavi says. “I’ll be easier, then. Four more months and then we can—”

“We don’t have that long,” Ruben says, throwing an arm out in a gesture Usnavi thinks is meant to encompass everything beyond their four walls. “I don’t know if the virus has reached the west coast yet, but it _will._ And then what? The longer we wait, the harder rebuilding is going to be.”

Sonny is glancing back and forth between them like he’s at a tennis match, uncharacteristically quiet.

“I understand that!” Usnavi says. “But it’s no good recklessly gettin’ ourselves killed, either. We need to think about this and figure out a—”

“I’m dying!” Ruben shouts.

All the air goes out of the room.

He _must_ have heard that wrong.

“W-what?”

Ruben’s chest heaves and he looks shocked by his own admission, but then he draws his shoulders back and repeats, steady, “I’m dying.”

“No,” Sonny says, horrified, and someone makes a wounded, strangled sound. It takes Usnavi a minute to realize it came from his own throat.

“You told me you stopped it,” he says, half-frantic. “After you got bit, you told me you’d stopped the progression…”

“I know,” Ruben says. “I lied. I only slowed it down. It’s … it’s still advancing.”

No. _No._ Usnavi struggles to wrap his mind around, but he _can’t._ “How long do you … do you have?”

Ruben’s eyes slide to the floor and he shrugs. “Before I start to lose cognitive function? Six months, maybe? It's hard to know for sure.”

Six months? Only six months. That’s …

Another sound slips out and Ruben takes a rushed step forward, expression pleading. “But we can make it to Nevada in six months if we go _now.”_

Usnavi shakes his head. “When were you gonna to tell me?”

Ruben freezes and looks away, guilty. Realization hits Usnavi like a ton of breaks. “You weren’t gonna tell me.”

“No,” Ruben whispers.

“So what?” Usnavi snaps, voice rising again. “What, you were just gonna leave me a note and go … go kill yourself? You weren’t even going to say good-bye?”

“I didn’t want you to go through that again!” Ruben shouts, throwing his hands up. “Not after Benny and everyone else. I didn’t want you to have to watch me deteriorate, to have to burn my body, or deal with the aftermath of a suicide or, God forbid, put a gun to my head and do it yourself. Usnavi…”

Usnavi backs up another step, shaking his head. None of the air has come back and his lungs are burning. His lungs are burning and his eyes are stinging and his hands are shaking and his _heart._ Oh God, his heart…

He doesn’t know whether to be furious or just let the grief and panic drown him. Ruben is dying, _Ruben is dying,_ and Ruben wasn’t going to tell him, and Ruben is looking at him now with wide, imploring eyes, and he … he has to get out.

He has to get out _right now._

He turns on his heel and runs, bursting out into the snow without a backward glance—heedless of Ruben shouting after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always greatly appreciated and highly motivating! :) Or come chat to me on [tumblr](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 5

His feet take him all the way back to the bodega and up to the roof. It’s weird, looking out at the city and not seeing any lights, but this high up you can’t really smell any of the death and decay that sometimes still lingers in the air. He sits on the edge, legs dangling over, and kicks his heels against the brick, trying to work out some of restless energy thrumming through him.

He wanted to think—that was the goal here—but his brain is just a mess of chaotic static with _Ruben_ and _dying_ repeating in the background on a screaming loop. It starts becoming a rhythm, almost. He can time it with the tap of his shoes on the wall.

Ruben. Dying. Ruben. Dying. Ruben. Dying. Ruben…

By the time Sonny finds him, he’s shaking all over from a combination of cold and emotion and he’s pretty sure he’s crying, but his face is too numb to tell.

Sonny sits down next to him, throwing his own legs over the edge.

“Is Ruben okay?” Usnavi croaks after a long moment.

Sonny hiccups a wet laugh. “You two are ridiculous, y’know that? Like, you belong on a telenovela or some shit.”

Usnavi isn’t in the mood for this. “Sonny…”

“He’s okay,” Sonny says, serious again. “I told him that we need some De La Vega time and he gets it. He’s the one that dropped, like, three bombshells on us, so…”

“Good,” Usnavi says and glances over. Sonny’s eyes are red-rimmed.

“Jesus, lookit you,” Sonny mumbles, reaching over to wipe a gloved hand over Usnavi’s face, smearing away the remnants of tears. Then he reaches down and pulls Usnavi’s scarf up higher, trying to cover more of his face.  

Usnavi bats his hand away and adjusts the scarf himself. “I got it. And you don’t look any better, _princesa_.”

“Well it’s been kinda a shit day.”

“Shit two years.”

“Good point.”

They fade into silence again and Sonny shifts closer, throwing an arm around Usnavi’s shoulders. “So … anythin’ you wanna talk about? I didn’t come up here to freeze my ass off for nothin’.”

Usnavi knows for a fact that if he asks for quiet, Sonny will sit up here in silence with him until he’s ready to go in or they both turn into icicles. It’s what prompts him to unstick his tongue and say, “I can’t believe he lied to me." He pauses. “Wait, I can. I probably woulda done the same, but …”

“It still sucks,” Sonny agrees and his voice catches. Usnavi wraps an arm around his back in silent support.

“I can’t lose him,” he admits into the darkness. “Sonny, I _can’t…”_

He’s lost so many people, and his heart is all ripped-up and barely stitched together and he’s pretty sure that if Ruben dies it’ll just … give out completely. Even if it doesn’t kill him outright, he definitely won’t ever recover.

“Me neither,” Sonny says. “Guess we’re walkin’ to Nevada, huh?”

“We’re walkin’ to Nevada,” Usnavi agrees with a mixture of terror and anticipation churning in his stomach.

“Good.” Sonny sighs. “I mean, there might be nothin’ but death and terror waitin’ out there, but … I’m kinda sick of this place, y’know? There’s a ton of death and terror here, too, so at least we’ll get a change of scene.”

Usnavi laughs, but Sonny’s right. He’s tired of the empty skyscrapers, the memorial wall full of fading names, the hollowed-out apartment haunted by the ghosts of his parents, Abuela Claudia, Vanessa, and the life they used to have. He’s tired of spending every day dodging Infected while he scrapes together just enough resources to keep them all alive. Maybe the other half of the country’s better, maybe they all get killed in a day.

Either way …

“Yeah, we have to try. It’s Ruben’s only chance.”

“And like, it’s not just about us anymore, is it?” Sonny says. “If what Ruben's sayin’ is true—and it is 'cause he’s brilliant, right?—then this could save the whole _world._ The whole world, Usnavi.” Sonny grins over at him. “We’re gonna be superheroes.”

“Presuming we make it,” Usnavi points out, thinking that it’s probably healthy to keep a sense of realism here.

“We’re gonna make it,” Sonny insists. “We’re superheroes.”

Usnavi laughs again and he still feels like crying, a little bit, but he’s lighter overall. “Thanks, Sonny.”

“Don’t mention it,” Sonny says, shifting to hug him properly. “He’s my family, too.”

“Yeah,” Usnavi murmurs and squeezes the back of Sonny’s neck. “He is.”

_ _

 

Ruben is sitting on the sofa with his face in his hands when they step through the front door of the townhouse. The firelight makes it look like a scene from some kind of romantic drama.

God, Sonny’s right. They totally belong in a telenovela.

Only he doesn’t go and fling himself dramatically into Ruben’s arms like he kind of wants to, just sits quietly down next to him while Sonny, bless him, hangs back to give them space.

“I’m really mad at you still,” he says and Ruben flinches. “You shouldn’t’ve lied to me.”

“I know,” Ruben says miserably, dropping his hands into his lap. He’s been biting his nails—the edges of them are all ragged. “I’m sorry.”

“We’re a _team,”_ Usnavi presses. “We do this shit together. That can’t work if we’re keeping important stuff from each other.”

“I know,” Ruben repeats, a whisper now.

“Good. I forgive you, please don’t do it again. And we should probably start packing,” Usnavi finishes.

Ruben finally looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Really?”

“Whaddaya mean ‘really?’” Usnavi huffs. “We were always gonna go, querido _,_ I just needed a minute.” He squints over at Ruben, who is still blinking at him with something close to disbelief, and a realization socks him straight in the stomach. “Wait, did you really think I woulda said _no? Ruben_ …”

“I wasn’t sure,” Ruben mumbles, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “’s a lot to ask. And I lied to you, so…”

Usnavi pokes him gently in the arm. “That ain’t how love works, hermoso.”

Ruben huffs, batting his hand away. “I had literally no experience before you and Vanessa and a fucking _apocalypse_ happened a year into our relationship. Cut me some slack.”

Usnavi hums, relenting, and kisses Ruben’s jaw. “Sorry I ran out on you.”

“No, that was a reasonable reaction,” Ruben murmurs, softening, too and returning the kiss—lips warm against the corner of Usnavi’s mouth.

Usnavi shudders as everything comes rushing back. “You’re _dying,”_ he whispers into Ruben’s shoulder, tangling his fingers in Ruben’s sweater like he might be able to keep him here, safe and alive, through sheer willpower alone.

“I’m not dead yet,” Ruben insists. “And I’m not going down without a fight.”

“Damn straight,” Sonny chimes in, flopping down between them and forcing them apart. He reaches over, uncharacteristically cautious, and taps one of the scars on Ruben’s arm—old and faded white, carved into him before he met them. Usnavi forgets, sometimes, that Ruben was already a survivor when everything went to shit. That he already knew what it was like to fight for his life and _win._

“Lookit everything you’ve survived so far,” Sonny says, bright. “This is gonna be a piece of cake.” He pauses, fixing Ruben with a hard stare. “But seriously, though, you ain’t allowed to die on us.”

Ruben shifts to give Sonny more room and then pulls him into a hug. “I don’t plan on it.”

They collectively and wordlessly decide that for right now, they’ll believe that’s how death works. It’s a small, but important comfort.

 

_ _

 

They spend several hours back at the bodega packing up as much food and other supplies as possible. Then several more at the house getting everything in order. Ruben sits himself down in the middle of his garden with Sonny and fills bottles with various concoctions—powders and pastes and dried leaves and liquids, none of which Usnavi knows the exact purpose of. Meanwhile, Usnavi packs up as many clothes as he can fit into their travel bags and then helps Ruben dismantle his makeshift lab.

They all curl up on the mattress to sleep and wake again an hour later, just as the sun is coming up. Usnavi fires up the sputtering generator one last time and cooks a big breakfast. For once, they eat all of it—silently stuffing their faces on the floor by the fireplace.

As Ruben washes the dishes, Usnavi stands in the middle of the living room and runs through a final checklist:

Ammunition, check. Rifles and pistol, check. Baseball bat, check. Crowbar, check. Clothes, check. Food, check. Medicines and bandages, check. Cooking utensils, check. Matches, check.

Everything seems to be in order.

“Are we ready to go?” Ruben asks him and Usnavi nods.

It’s strange, putting on their layers for the last time. Leaving the front door unlocked for other potential survivors as they step outside into the falling snow.

They swing by the bodega and Usnavi pins two notes up on the door: one telling people to take any remaining supplies and one for Vanessa, saying that they’re going to Nevada.

Just in case, by some miracle, she makes it back here.

He stops by the memorial wall, too, and traces over the names—presses his hand flat against Benny’s and murmurs, “adios _,_ ” under his breath.

More than likely, after over two decades on this block, he’ll never be coming back. He would linger longer, take one last mental picture, but this ain’t how he wants to remember it: cold and silent with death hanging over everything like a depressing shroud. Windows in the buildings all blown out and the wind howling like it’s grieving.

This place is already a grave and he’s gonna hold on to when it was alive: music and color, Benny at the dispatch, the piragua guy’s lilting songs, Daniela and Carla dancing in the street, Abuela Claudia on her corner...

“Do you feel weird?” Sonny murmurs to him, staring up at the bodega’s torn awning. “Like, I should be sad, right? But I ain’t.”

“Me neither,” Usnavi says, squeezing his shoulder. He’s more relieved, actually. Maybe he’ll feel less like a ghost out there—less like he should be dead already but he’s just kind of … lingering. “Everything important here is already gone.”

“Yeah. Though I saved this for you.” Sonny passes over a familiar dollar bill, removed from its frame - wrinkled and frail and torn along one side. “Was gonna give it to you as a birthday present, but this seems more fittin’, so…”

Usnavi takes it with reverent fingers. “Man, I thought we’d lost this.”

“Me too. Found it last week under some rubble.”

“Thank you.” Usnavi hugs him tight and tucks the bill into his pocket.

“Let’s go,” Sonny says, adjusting his hat.

Ruben is waiting for them a ways up the street, arm wrapped around a streetlight to keep himself grounded.

“Ready?” he asks when he hears them approach.

“Yep,” Usnavi says. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

They head up the street towards the GWB, Sonny in the lead and Usnavi and Ruben a few steps behind.

None of them look back.

 

_ _

 

**_Palo Alto_ **

“We’re taking a break today,” Nina announces when Vanessa steps through the door on Saturday morning.

She’s seated at the kitchen table, hair in more of a disarray than usual, and still in her pajamas. Her socks don’t match and one of them has a hole in the heel. A steaming mug of what is probably terrible instant coffee is cradled in her hands, if the grimace she makes when she takes a sip is anything to go by. But Vanessa focuses on the dark bags under her eyes, the pallor of her skin, and the determined set to her jaw.

“Eugene told you not to come in today, didn’t he?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe.

Nina huffs. “He said, ‘Rosario, take a day off before you collapse,” and _then_ told me I wasn’t allowed anywhere near the campus until Monday. He even confiscated my radio.”  

“Good for him,” Vanessa says, wry to mask her relief. Nina’s been pushing herself harder and harder, burning the candle at both ends, and it’s only a matter of time before her body gives out like Usnavi’s did after his parents died and she ends up sick in bed for weeks - without any of the resources they used to have to make sure it doesn’t become fatal.

“I’m fine,” Nina insists. “And you’re not looking much better, V. When was the last time you slept?”

For more than a few hours? Vanessa honestly doesn’t remember. “I sleep,” she says, crossing her arms over chest and unable to keep the defensive note out of her voice.

Nina shoots her a disbelieving look.

“Fine, what are we doing with our break?”

She _was_ planning on curling up in bed and not moving until her shift at the station tomorrow, still trying to shake the crushing depression that always creeps in around anniversaries and birthdays and lingers. But time with Nina would be nice, too. She also can’t remember when they last got a whole day together.

“Sleeping,” Nina declares. “At least for a few more hours. Then, if there aren’t any blockades up, maybe we can go to the beach?”

The beach sounds good. Vanessa never gets tired of sitting in the sand and listening to the rhythmic crash of the waves. She likes imagining what it would be like to sail out to the horizon line and just keep going—far enough to leave all of this death and sadness and chaos behind. None of them know what’s happening out there in the rest of the world, but surely there are places the virus hasn’t touched.

“Okay,” she agrees. “Bed and beach. It’s a date.”

Nina smiles at her, only a little wan, and gestures to the stove. “There’s rice porridge if you want some.”

She sets her bag down and toes off her shoes, hanging her coat on one of the nails they put up just inside the door. The silence is comfortable as she settles at the kitchen table with a small bowl of porridge. They don’t talk as much as they used to, her and Nina, but she doesn’t think either of them mind. Words can be hard to come by—what with everything that’s happened and everything they’ve lost.

The silence holds through her washing up and the two of them climbing back into bed, shifting to find comfortable positions on the lumpy mattress.

“I’m sorry,” Nina says suddenly. “I know the past couple days have been hard and I haven’t been around.”

“It’s okay,” Vanessa says. “I didn’t really wanna talk about it, anyway.”

“Do you want to talk now?”

“I thought we were gonna sleep.”

“Is that a no?”

Vanessa thinks about it for a long moment. Her instinctive answer is always _no,_ but that’s probably not very productive. Every month that passes without any information from the East Coast or a return message makes her heart heavier—like she’s stacking stones up inside her ribcage—and she doesn’t know how to fix it.

“I just miss them,” she says. “So much. And I know, I know, you keep saying I should let them go, but I can’t do that.”

Nina takes her hand, squeezing tight. “I know. I get it. Just because I’m trying to let go doesn’t mean I don’t look for familiar faces in every new group of refugees or turn on the broadcasts every night to see if they’ve heard anything from back home.” She sighs. “It’s almost harder, isn’t it? This whole … not knowing. They’re probably dead, but it’s the ‘ _probably’_ that makes it difficult. That keeps you clinging on to hope no matter the odds.”

“Yeah,” Vanessa agrees, glad that Nina has been able to put it into words. “Exactly.”

“I miss them, too,” Nina says. “It seems so … quiet around here without them.”

“I keep expecting to wake up and hear Usnavi’s voice in the kitchen,” Vanessa says. “Or stumble across one of Ruben’s notebooks lying around. It’s like they’re … they’re phantom limbs or something. I don’t know when that’ll stop. It’s been two years, but…”

“Maybe it never will,” Nina says in a rare moment of vulnerability and Vanessa appreciates hearing Nina, who always has her eyes on the future, be willing to admit that time may not be a big cure all. “Maybe we’re always going to be haunted now.”

She wouldn’t mind that, she thinks. If Usnavi and Ruben are dead (and they _aren’t_ ) then it would mean that they’ve found their way to her, after all, and she would still get flickers of them in her life. Feel their presence in the corners of her apartment. This is different than ghosts. This is a void. A vacuum.

But she doesn’t know how to explain that to Nina. Or maybe Nina can sense something she can’t.

“We should sleep,” she says instead, squeezing Nina’s hand.

“Yeah,” Nina agrees, visibly shaking off her sadness, and pulls the covers up to their shoulders.

Sleep comes surprisingly easy.

_ _

 

There haven’t been any new big arrivals recently, so the path to the beach is free of blockades or military personnel. They go in the early afternoon, because as beautiful as California sunsets are, it isn’t really safe to be out after dark anymore.

It’s quieter here, in the winter. This past summer tons of people camped out on the beach, taking advantage of the open space and sleeping under the stars or in tents, but the rain and cold have driven most of them inside. Though, Vanessa and Nina still have to pick their way around a few small encampments before they manage to find a deserted strip of sand.

They lie down side by side, a rolled-up blanket under their heads to protect their hair. The sky overhead is heavy and gray, which Vanessa is glad for. It matches her mood. When she’s like this all the incessant _sun_ just pisses her off.

“Enjoying the break?” Vanessa asks after a while.

Nina sighs. “I did need it.”

“You know they’re probably gonna give you a medal soon, right? Or at least some bigshot title.”

Nina laughs, shaking her head. “Bigshot titles don’t mean much now, do they?” She bites her lip. “Though … there has been talk of naming me ‘Head of Refugee Resettlement’ or something like that for Palo Alto.”

“Nina!” Vanessa says, slapping her arm. “That’s amazing.”

Nina sits up—gaze on the restless ocean—and shrugs. “Sure, I guess. It’s just … it’s funny, isn’t it? How things that mattered so much to you can end up not mattering at all down the line. Like … I wanted to graduate. That was all I was dreaming of: walking up on that stage and getting my diploma with my parents in the front row. But now? Even if the university system did get back online and they decided to give it to me … it’s just a piece of paper. I’d trade it all to make sure my parents are safe. To … to see home again.”

Vanessa sits up, too, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I know. All I used to dream about was getting out of the barrio. Now I think I’d literally trade my limbs to spend a day back in the bodega with Usnavi and Ruben again. To sweep the curb in front of the salon and listen to Daniela gossip.”

“Hear the elevated train,” Nina agrees.

“The piragua guy.”

“Boleros on the taxi radios.”

“The laundry on the fire escapes.”

“Dominos on the street corners.”

"Fire hydrants open in the summer."

"A breeze off the Hudson." 

Vanessa shakes her head, hating the tears she can feel building in her eyes. “Hell, I wouldn’t even mind arguing with my mother again over paying her bills.” She wipes her face and rests her head on Nina’s shoulder. “What do you think is gonna happen to us?”

“I don’t know,” Nina says. “That’s another thing that’s changed. Remember how I used to have everything planned out?”

She does. Nina with her lists and her notebooks and her journals full of steps to take in five years, ten. “You always used to try to help us make up our own sets of goals. Wanted us to know exactly where we’d be like you did. I was jealous of how _sure_ you were about it all.”

“Yeah,” Nina says with a faint laugh. “But I don’t do that anymore. Now, I get up every morning and I tell myself: just make it through today. Tomorrow is tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is tomorrow,” Vanessa echoes and doesn’t wonder how many tomorrows are going to pass before she sees Usnavi and Ruben again.

Maybe the scientists find a cure and they live long, somewhat normal lives. Maybe the virus breaks out into another pandemic and they all die violent and messy. Right now, it feels like everything is either ending or starting anew and she’s never sure which. Maybe it’s both at the same time, but Nina’s right—there’s not point dwelling on it.

“Your parents would be proud of you,” Vanessa says, thinking that maybe it’s time to remind Nina of that.

Nina smiles and her eyes are gleaming. “I just hope they’re…” she catches herself and shakes her head, unable to voice the rest, whatever it may be: _at_ _peace, alive, looking for me…_ “What should we do with the rest of today?”

Vanessa runs some calculations in her head, with the goal of cheering Nina (and herself) up in mind. “I really wanna make tres leches _.”_

“That sounds amazing,” Nina agrees.

“I think we could probably spare some ration cards to get the ingredients.”

They might have to stretch meals for a few extra nights, but it would be worth it for even just a bite of Abuela Claudia’s _tres leches_ cake. She’s pretty sure she remembers the recipe (and she  _doesn’t_ think about Usnavi showing her how to make it a few months after they started dating—shirtless in his kitchen with flour in his hair and smudged on his cheek, and his eyes crinkled up from the bright, affectionate smile taking over his face).

“Tres leches it is, then,” Nina delcares and clambers to her feet.

They shake the blanket out and make their way back towards the road, arm in arm. In spite of everything, some of the stones in Vanessa’s rib cage have shaken lose and her good mood holds even when the sky opens up and it starts to rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are awesome and cherished and always motivate me like nothing else. :) Also feel free to come chat to me on [tumblr](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com).


	6. Chapter 6

They slowly, slowly inch their way west. The harsh conditions of winter make going difficult and Usnavi’s discovered a whole new level of cold he didn’t think it was possible to feel. They’re hesitant to stray too far from the open road and into any buildings, since that’s generally where Infected like to hang out, and so they spend nights huddled together around a fire, trying to keep from freezing to death in their sleep.

They’ve been traveling for five days when a storm hits, finally driving them into an empty house off the highway. Usnavi goes in first with the rifle and checks every single nook and cranny before sounding the all clear.

“Lookit this place,” Sonny says, setting his hat on the kitchen table. “Shit’s still intact.”

It’s true. There’s still food lining the shelves and plates sitting out on the kitchen table. Like the family ran in the middle of a meal or something and now it’s been preserved forever. It’s creepy. Whole place feels like a mausoleum, but it’s better than being out there in the cold. Especially when he discovers that the generator they’ve got in the basement still works.

Sonny builds a fire in the fireplace while Ruben fixes them dinner at the stove, stealing some ingredients off the shelves so they don’t dip too far into their own supplies. Usnavi doesn’t like the quiet or the pictures scattered around—a mother, father, and two young sons all smiling bright and happy for the camera. He turns on the radio to combat it, and he isn’t expecting to pick up anything because of the storm but music actually filters through.

Once he realizes what it is, he laughs and turns it up. “Oh, my _god._ Ruben, someone out there is playing fucking _Edith Piaf.”_

Ruben leaves the soup and comes over to hear the crackling radio better. “Wow. I feel like I’m in _Inception_ or something.”

“Nah,” Usnavi says. “This is obviously a 1940s romance drama, probably set during the war. We’ve managed to steal a few moments away for ourselves and now they whole audience is wondering if we’re gonna kiss.”

Ruben arches an eyebrow. “Are they? And which one of us is the dame in this scenario?”

“Me obviously,” Usnavi bats his eyelashes. “My legs would look amazing in a dress. But I was thinkin’ that we’re two soldiers who’ve fallen in love. But obviously, we can’t tell anyone ‘cause the 40s suck like that. Which is why we’re stealing away together.”  

He bows deep at the waist. “Dance with me?”

Ruben snorts, but his mouth is twitching and he takes Usnavi’s hand. “I think we should probably be on patrol.”

“They won’t miss us for ten minutes.”

The song changes to _Adieu Mon Coeur_ and they start to sway together. Usnavi hums along, singing the words under his breath, and Ruben frowns at him as they round the kitchen table. “How do you know this song?”

“Abuela Claudia used to love her. Listened to her all the time, so I picked most of her stuff up, even if I never really understood what she was saying.”

“Goodbye my heart,” Ruben murmurs.

“That much I did get,” Usnavi teases and Ruben steps on his foot. “ _Ow.”_

“Oops,” Ruben says without any remorse.

"Quit ruining our romantic liaison,” Usnavi complains, pulling Ruben in close again.

“You started it,” Ruben fires right back, but he quickly softens and lets Usnavi lead him.

It’s nice, having Ruben in his arms and dancing to Abuela Claudia’s music. He can almost forget about his exhaustion and the chill in the air and the wind rattling the shutters outside. In fact, he’s getting kinda caught up in how Ruben’s eyelashes look in this light, fanning shadows across his cheeks, and how red Ruben’s mouth is from where he’s been biting it and he starts to lean in, sliding one hand up to cradle Ruben’s head…

“Oh, my god,” Sonny says from the doorway, stopping them just as they’re about to kiss. “You two are so _weird._ And the soup is burnin.”

Ruben curses and scrambles back over to the stove. Usnavi flips Sonny off.

Sonny laughs.

 

_ _

 

Hunting is a _bitch._

First of all, he _really_ doesn’t like killing cute furry animals and every time lifts his rifle to take out a deer, that scene with the hunter in the beginning of _Bambi_ starts playing in his head and he can’t pull the trigger.

“We’re going to starve at this rate,” Ruben remarks to him one afternoon, after they’ve wasted hours trying to hunt in the snow-covered woods.

“Shut up,” Usnavi mumbles petulantly. “Maybe I can try fishing instead.”

“Uh-huh,” Ruben says without much conviction. Usnavi so appreciates his support.

Fishing is almost as much of a disaster as hunting, though between them, him and Sonny manage to catch a few using a makeshift net. Putting the net together and then waiting for fish takes way too long, though—like, an entire day, and ain’t nobody got time for that shit.

Finally, Sonny takes a deep, wobbling breath and says, “give me the rifle. I’ll do it.”

Sonny loves cute, furry animals as much as he does and he’s only eighteen. Usnavi is the goddamn adult in this relationship and he refuses to let his cousin be more traumatized by all of this than he probably already is. He can suck it up.

“Nah, I got it.”

And the fact that he’s so hungry he can barely think makes it easier. He still apologizes to the poor deer about a hundred times and might have teared up a little right after he shot it, but he does it. When he drags the carcass back to camp that evening, Ruben takes his shaking hands in his own and kisses him, murmuring, “it’s okay. I’ll take it from here.”

Which, thank god. Usnavi probably would’ve thrown up if he had to skin it and cut it up. But Ruben’s dissected Infected for his research and worked in a hospital Before—he’s got a steel stomach.

The venison actually tastes pretty good and one deer should be enough to last the three of them a few days, especially since they’re all used to not eating that much.

“Good job, cuz,” Sonny says around a mouthful of meat (actual _meat,_ Usnavi still can’t believe it) and Usnavi still feels a little guilty, but mostly proud that he doesn’t suck at survival as much as he worried he would.

“Do you think there are still pigs roaming around out there?” he asks Ruben as they settle into their shelter for the night. “We could have bacon again.”

Sonny groans. “How many times I gotta tell you? Stop talkin’ about bacon.”

Ruben just curls closer around him, lips pressed hot to his skin, and hums softly. It isn’t really an answer, but Usnavi doesn’t mind. He runs rubs gently at the back of Ruben’s neck and thinks for the first time that they might actually have a chance at this.

 

_ _

 

He was bracing himself for Infected and dangerous wildlife and evil survivors like in _The Walking Dead,_ but so far, it’s just a lot of walking. In fact, it’s almost _boring._

Walk walk walk walk walk. Stop. Rest. Walk walk walk walk. Stop. Build shelter. Hunt if need be. Sleep. Get up. Walk walk walk walk walk walk ….

At least the scenery is beautiful. If it wasn’t for the persistent, never-ending _hush_ that seems to have fallen over everything, you could almost forget that the world’s pretty much ended. The woods look the same as he imagines they always have—dark and still and draped in snow. Sometimes they’ll hear the distant screams of Infected and instinctively cluster together: Ruben protected in the middle, Sonny and Usnavi pointing weapons at the shadows. They're never attacked, though.

Maybe out here the Infected feed on deer and don’t bother people.

“Do you ever feel like we’ve gone back in time or something?” Sonny asks one morning.

They’ve abandoned the woods for the deserted highway after some disturbing noises got a little close for comfort and Usnavi squints at the empty road stretching out until it’s swallowed by distant hills. They passed a sign welcoming them to Indiana a few miles back and now the forest is steadily giving way to white fields. 

“Sort of,” he agrees. “Or like the rapture happened and we got left behind.”

It’s been almost three weeks of walking and they haven’t seen another human being once. Granted, they’ve been avoiding potential settlements out of a probably misplaced paranoid, but still.

“We need to find a radio station soon,” Ruben says, walking a few steps behind Usnavi.

They’re practicing Ruben following him without any guidance, just by listening to the crunch of his footsteps in the snow. So far Ruben’s pretty good at it and Usnavi’s only accidentally walked them into an icy puddle once.

“I think I see smoke over there,” Sonny says, pointing, and then winces when he realizes that doesn’t help Ruben at all. “I mean, northwest. Probably ‘bout twenty to thirty miles away?”

He’s turning out to be a decent navigator—found a compass in an abandoned house three days ago and so far has gotten them un-lost three times. Usnavi’s pretty good with direction, has always had a head for it, but it’s a little different trying to find your way in a forest than in an empty city where street signs are still plentiful.

He turns in the direction that Sonny’s pointing and spots them easily: several plumes of pale smoke visible against the blue sky, which probably means more than one house. The last road sign they passed said they were about twenty miles from Medora, so maybe the town is still intact. Whether or not they’ll have a station is a gamble, but.

“Worth a shot,” he decides and they adjust course.

It’s nearly dark by the time they reach the outskirts of Medora. The town is quaint—almost exactly how he’s always pictured a small, middle-America town is his head: white clapboard houses with front porches, wide streets, and a downtown that’s really just one street with a few brick buildings.

There doesn’t seem to be any signs of life, but the hair on the back of Usnavi’s neck is raising and he’s got a Very Bad Feeling. He slips the rifle from his shoulder into his glove hands, clutching it nervously.

“I always thought this was a cliché,” Sonny murmurs, “but it’s _too quiet.”_

“Yeah,” Ruben agrees, shoulders stiff with tension and blindfold around his neck. “We should go. Now.”

They continue down the main street at a brisk pace, trying to leave the town behind as fast as possible. They’re only a few blocks away from the outskirts when a distinctive wail pours from one of the nearby buildings.

“Shit,” Usnavi breathes just Infected tear out into the street. It isn’t as many as he was worried about, but he can see more approaching from the town center.

Sonny shoots one in the face and Usnavi feels Ruben yank the crowbar out of his pack.

“RUN!” he yells as he swings it at another one’s head. It connects with a sickening crunch of bone and the Infected lets out an ear-piercing shriek.

Usnavi backs up, emptying several rounds into an Infected that’s bigger than anything he’s ever seen in New York. Sonny is still shooting and the _crack_ of the bullets mixes with the howls of the Infected into a deafening cacophony.

When they’ve taken out enough to give themselves an advantage, they turn tail and sprint for the fields, struggling in the knee deep snow. The Infected predictably stop at the town edge, unwilling to travel out into the open, but Usnavi keeps egging Sonny and Ruben on until they’re a good mile away.

“Jesus,” Sonny chokes out when they finally stop, bracing his hands on his knees.

“Yeah,” Ruben agrees, equally out of breath. “Whole town must've turned.”

“Let’s not … do that again?” Usnavi says, fighting the urge to just collapse into the snow and sleep.

Ruben nods. “We can try again further west.” He straightens and digs his tattered notebook and pencil stub out of his pack, scratching something on the inside of the cover.

“What’re you doing?” Sonny asks.

“Charting the spread,” Ruben murmurs. “Far as Indiana now.”

There really isn’t a good response to that, so they keep walking, looking for a place to make camp for the night.

 

_ _

 

They make it all the way into Illinois before they run out of supplies. After Medora, none of them are eager to go poking around in any buildings, but they don’t have much of a choice.

“Farm houses,” Usnavi decides. “Less of a chance of big hoards.”

“Lead the way, captain,” Ruben says with a faint smirk.

“Excuse me, that’s _general_ to you.”

“In your dreams,” Sonny snorts and Usnavi very maturely throws a handful of snow at his head.

Ruben stops them before it can devolve into an actual snowball fight (thank God one of them is an actual Adult) and the scavenging commences. They try to pick houses that look to be in fairly good condition and enter each with guns drawn (and Ruben grumbling about being left outside until they sound the all clear). Most of them are already picked clean, but they strike metaphorical gold in house ten: a big Victorian with a wraparound porch.

“Yes!” Usnavi shouts when he opens the pantry and finds it stocked full of cans. “We’re gonna eat like kings tonight, _querido._ They’ve got five different kinds of soup in here.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all week,” Ruben says, grinning from his spot by the kitchen table.

Usnavi brings cans over and lets Ruben put them in their packs, then opens every single drawer in the kitchen, crowing victoriously when he finds a working lighter and a whole packet of spare batteries that will definitely fit their flashlights. As well as …

“Ruben, I think this is the greatest day of my life. They have hot chocolate _and_ decent-looking instant coffee. I mean, it’s still instant, but it’s very expensive-looking so maybe it won’t taste like paint thinner.”

“Amazing,” Ruben says with the appropriate amount of reverence for a discovery of this magnitude.

“Guys!” Sonny yells from the backyard. “Get out here! I’m about to blow your damn minds!”

Ruben’s eyebrows jump above his blindfold and he reaches out a hand for Usnavi to lead him out the back door and into the expansive yard. Sonny is standing near an old pickup truck and grinning from ear to ear.

“It’s got a full tank!” he shouts, rapping the side. “And it starts up!”

To prove his point, he clambers behind the wheel and cranks the ignition. The truck roars to life.

“Oh my god,” Ruben whispers and actually shoves up his blindfold, tripping down the porch steps to get a closer look at the truck.

“Ruben, be careful,” Usnavi chides, hurrying after him.

Sonny kills the truck again and grins. “Am I a god, or what? Feel free to start worshippin’ me any time.”

Ruben looks ready to cry. “Sonny, this is _amazing_.”

Usnavi really wants to join in the excitement, but…

“Uh, you rocket fellas are forgettin’ one important detail here.” They both look over at him, Ruben tugging his blindfold back down, much to Usnavi’s internal relief. “Ruben’s the only one that knows how to drive.”

Sonny’s smile falls and Ruben huffs a darkly amused laugh. “We’re in a flat part of the country. You could just scream at me if I’m about to hit something?”

Yeah. No. Usnavi’s getting stressed just thinking about it.

“C’mon,” Sonny says, rallying again, “Usnavi n’ I can learn. How hard can it be?”

 

_ _

 

Very, is the answer. Very hard.

It’s a manual transmission and no matter how many times he tries, Usnavi can’t seem to hit the sweet spot between releasing the clutch and pushing down on the gas. After he stalls the truck twice just trying to drive it onto the road, Sonny smacks him on the shoulder.

“Lemme try.”

“Fine,” Usnavi huffs in exasperation and they switch spots.

“Just take it easy,” Ruben instructs from the passenger seat—the same advice he gave Usnavi. “Go slow. You should be able to feel it when the clutch engages.”

Sonny stalls almost immediately, but his second try is much smoother and he has almost no trouble when he has to switch gears. Usnavi tries very hard not to be bitter about this.

“Ha!” Sonny says when they’re driving smoothly, twisting in the seat to smirk at Usnavi. “See? It just hated you.”

“Fuck off,” Usnavi says, shoving his shoulder.

“Eyes on the road,” Ruben snaps with the eerie sixth sense he sometimes displays. Sonny faces front with a sheepish grimace and Ruben reaches out to pat his leg. “Good job, though.”

Usnavi’s remaining bitterness evaporates when he sees Sonny light up at Ruben’s praise so much he’s practically glowing. Sonny’s looked up to Ruben almost as soon as he got to know him—awed by his intelligence and his experience and his strength—and every time he sees it in action, Usnavi’s heart gets all warm and twisted up.

Ruben reaches over the back of the seat, searching for him, and he immediately slots their fingers together.

“And you’ll get it,” Ruben assures him and the warm feeling increases. “It took me three tries to pass my test.”

Usnavi kisses the back of his hand. “Thanks, querido _._ ”

For once, Sonny doesn’t even make any gagging noises.

 

_ _

 

They get lucky for several days, siphoning gas from a handful of abandoned cars they find scattered in people’s driveways and yards. Usnavi finally gets the hang of driving (he’s is far more pleased than he probably should be) and trades off with Sonny every few hours. They camp by the side of the road at night—Usnavi and Ruben sleeping curled up together in the truck bed while Sonny crashes in the backseat.

(“Well, we’ve lasted a month,” Ruben says to him to one night as they stare up at the stars, watching their breaths fog the air.

He sounds exhausted and Usnavi kisses him deep. “We’ll make it.”

Ruben smiles at him, a little sad, and pulls Usnavi back in, opening his mouth for Usnavi’s tongue. Usnavi cups his cheek and sinks into his warmth—lets the taste and feel of him drown out everything else.

The have to make it. Usnavi doesn’t want to face a world that Ruben’s not in.)

In the middle of Kansas, they run out of gas again with no town and only a few farmhouses in sight.

Sonny sighs, putting the truck in park and turning off the engine. “More scavenging?”

“More scavenging,” Usnavi agree, hoping that their luck will hold.

Ruben hands him the gas can they pilfered from a station two days ago and they head for the closest house. It’s massive, with a barn out back and several cars parked in the drive.

“I’ma go in and check for other supplies,” Sonny says.

They haven’t seen any Infected outside of the woods or towns yet, but Usnavi still says, “be careful.”

“Yes, mom,” Sonny replies and breaks open the front door with practiced ease, going through with the rifle drawn.

Ruben follows him inside and Usnavi faintly hears Sonny saying that he’ll check upstairs if Ruben takes the kitchen, but most of his focus is on the cars. They look old—abandoned long before the pandemic—and he’s not holding out much hope for gas.

Sure enough: tank one and two are empty. He’s about to try siphoning tank three when he hears a blood-curdling scream from inside the house.

_Sonny._

He drops the can and charges into the house. Ruben is already halfway up the stairs, blindfold yanked down around his neck and crowbar in his hand.

They find Sonny in one of the bedrooms, but no Infected. He’s just standing there, shaking.

“Sonny,” Usnavi says urgently, “what’s…” he trails off when he reaches Sonny’s side, voice dying in his throat as he sees what Sonny is looking at.

There’s a body in the bed. A girl, can’t be more than ten, slowly decomposing. Blood all over the sheets and a bullet wound in her head.

_God._

Bile surges up his throat and he swallows it back, wraps an arm around Sonny’s trembling shoulders. “Sonny, go downstairs.” Sonny is still staring at the body. Usnavi gives him a little shake. “Sonny, _go downstairs._ You don’t need to see this.”

It’s too late to spare him the horror of it, but he doesn’t need to linger here with the smell of death and rot heavy in the air.

Finally, Sonny moves, stumbling out of the room without a backward glance.

“The parents are in the other room,” Ruben says quietly from the doorway.

“Shit,” Usnavi mumbles, voice thick with the beginnings of tears. The girl has a bite mark on her arm, still visible even through the decay. “She was infected.”

Ruben makes a sad sound. “They weren’t.”

“Yeah, but what would you do?” Usnavi chokes out. His vision is blurring and he still feels sick down to his bones. “If you had to kill your daughter?”

The floorboards creak beneath Ruben’s feet and his hand closes firm over Usnavi’s shoulders. “Let’s go, cariño. You don’t need to see this, either.”

Usnavi doesn’t move—isn’t sure he can get his legs working again. “Should we bury them?”

Ruben’s squeezes his shoulder. “We don’t have time.”

Right. Of course they don’t. There’s never been time for burials, not even at the beginning of all this. Daniela and Carla and Benny - none of them got a funeral. 

“Let’s go,” Ruben repeats, tugging on his arm now. “Usnavi…”

Usnavi finally manages to unstick his feet from the floor and follow Ruben. As soon as they’re outside, he throws up in the dead bushes lining the porch steps. Sonny is leaning against one of the cars, looking just as sick and shaken.

Ruben takes charge, helping Usnavi get his pack back on and securing the rifle over his shoulder before finally yanking up his blindfold again with a timorous hand.

“I don’t wanna check any of the other houses,” Sonny says when they approach.

“Me neither,” Usnavi agrees quickly, even if giving up the truck is gonna suck. He can’t face another scene like that one.

Ruben doesn’t push them. “Okay, okay. That's fine. Let’s go.”

They leave the house behind quickly, but it’s a long time before Usnavi’s stomach settles and even longer before his heart stops aching.

 

_ _

 

“Colorado,” Ruben says a week later, staring up at the road sign.

Usnavi could cry in relief—sick to death of flat roads and dead, snow-crushed cornfields.

“We need to try to find another radio station,” Ruben says.

“Okay,” Usnavi agrees. They’re so far west now. Surely settlements here are more frequent and free of Infected.

And he’s right. Colorado Springs is still relatively full of life. After two months on the road, it’s a shock to see other people again. They submit to full body scans for any sign of the virus and a thorough search of their bags before they’re shown the way to the station. There, they’re met with incredulity when they explain that they’ve come from New York.

“We didn’t think anyone was alive out there,” one of the station managers says. 

“Please,” Ruben says, “we need to send a message. I can pay with some medicine, if that would be an acceptable trade?”

The woman accepts the payment and Usnavi’s feels a strong sense of déjà vu as he watches Ruben sit down in front of the microphone. Lean in to speak. "Nevada Research Facility, this is Dr. Ruben Marcado, currently in Colorado Springs. I have critical information to relay, do you copy?”

They all waited with baited breath for several minutes but ... no response.

Ruben bows his head and slaps the table in frustration.

“Sorry,” the manager says. “I can try to broadcast out to some secure channels? They might be paying more attention to those.”

“Please,” Ruben croaks and hands over some more medicine.

He repeats the message so she can record it and she promises to loop it for the next hour and again tonight.

“Thank you so much,” Usnavi says fervently, shaking her hand.

She shrugs. “You came all the way from New York City, right? It must be really important.”

“It is.”

“Then I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

They spend the night in a park after assuring the city officials that they’re leaving in the morning. Being around this many people again, especially strangers with a paranoid streak to match his own, makes Usnavi uneasy, and he’s glad to leave at a dawn, even though they haven’t gotten a response from Nevada.

“We can try again on the other side of the state,” Usnavi reassures Ruben, squeezing his hand.

None of them voice the fear that the facility might be gone. That isn’t an option.

 

_ _

 

Really, they’ve been insanely lucky so far, and it had to run out eventually. In spectacular fashion, too. Call him a pessimist (though he prefers "realist"), but he’s been waiting for it to happen for a while now—years, really—so he isn’t even that surprised when bandits attack them a hundred miles out of Grand Junction.

They’re overpowered quickly (though Sonny manages to shoot one of them in the shoulder) and forced to their knees in the middle of the highway.

The leader (who Usnavi internally dubs Fuckface) paces dramatically in front of them like he’s trying to be a villain from _The Walking Dead._

 _“_ Which one of you is Ruben Marcado?”

Well. At least _someone_ picked up the message. And a painful death to whoever passed along information about them from Colorado Springs.

Ruben opens his mouth, but Usnavi beats him to it. “I am.” His voice is steady, confident, and he ignores the strangled sound Ruben makes.

Ruben’s life is more important than his right now and he silently begs Ruben to remember that and keep his stupid mouth shut.

Fuckface nods to his cronies. “Take him. The kid, too. Leave the blind one.”

“Should we shoot ‘im?” one of them asks and Usnavi’s heart nearly stops dead in his chest.

“Nah,” Fuckface says with a wave of his hand. “Don't waste ammunition. He’ll freeze by morning.”

“ _No_ ,” Ruben snarls, desperate. “No, _don’t_ , I—”

Crony One knocks him unconscious with the butt of his rifle. Usnavi sees fucking red.

“Hey! Leave him alone, you _motherfucker_!”

Crony Two kicks him in the ribs and raises his own rifle. Pain explodes through his skull as it connects and darkness rushes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always deeply appreciate and super, massively motivating. Or come chat to me on [tumblr](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com).


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a horrible person, guys. ( _Sorry._ )
> 
> WARNING: this chapter contains fairly graphic descriptions of torture, blood, and injury. 
> 
> I would also like to reassure everyone that absolutely none of the people in the tags are dying in this story, cross my heart.

**_Palo Alto_ **

The station has been getting steadily busier—more refugees, more messages, more desperate updates from Sacramento. The virus is still advancing west and supplies are dwindling. Morale is low and Nina has been spending several nights a week on campus, trying to find ways to stretch resources and calm the agitated public. Vanessa works most of her shifts with Javier now, and they’ve taken to playing more music in between messages—their own small effort to keep spirits up.

She’s trying to decide her selection for the night when Javier, currently monitoring the secure channels, frowns and tilt his head, pressing one headphone harder against his ear.

“What’s up?” she asks him, trying to stave off the dread coalescing in her gut.

The secure channels have gotten busier, too—the Nevada facility and the government trying to keep just how bad the situation is from the general public. Nothing that ever comes through is good news.

“I’m not sure,” Javier says, gesturing her over. “Listen to this?”

She takes the headphones from him. “What is it?”

“A message out of Colorado Springs. But it’s not one of the usual station operators. They’re trying to hail Nevada.”

“Nevada?”

“Yeah. Just listen. The message has been looping on one of the secure channels for fifteen minutes now.”

The dread has solidified into a heavy weight. If Colorado is trying to hail Nevada, the only thing she can think of is that they have another major outbreak on their hands. Javier isn’t panicking, though, so maybe it’s something else.

She puts the headphones on. The message is in the middle of its loop, but as soon as she hears the voice crackling through, all of the air freezes in her lungs.

“… currently in Colorado Springs. I have critical information to relay, do you copy?”

Oh God. Oh _God._ It’s been two years, but she would know that voice anywhere. She hears the echoes of it in her dreams at night and it lurks in the back of her mind as she goes about her day, mingling with all of the other lost voices from home.

 _Ruben._ Ruben is _alive._

The message starts again. This time she listens all the way through, drinking in every static-laced word.

“Nevada Research Facility, this is Dr. Ruben Marcado, currently in Colorado Springs. I have critical information to relay, do you copy?”

Her heart is beating like a drum: _alive, alive, alive, alive._

“V…?” Javier asks and she realizes with a jolt that she’s sitting with her hand over her mouth and her vision’s gone all blurry.

She shakes off her stupor, urgency screaming into its wake. “We need to hail Colorado Springs. _Now.”_

Javier’s brow furrows. “What…?”

“Do it. Now. Please?”

Javier puts the second pair of headphones on and flips a series of switches on his control board. “Colorado Springs, this is Palo Alto, do you copy?”

It takes two tries, but finally a woman answers. Vanessa recognizes her as one of the regular station managers. “We copy, Palo Alto.”

Before Javier can speak, Vanessa leans into her mic. “The message you sent us. Dr. Ruben Marcado. How did you get it?”

A startled pause. The the woman says, in a voice laced with uncertainty, “he just came in. Showed up out of nowhere. Said he was from New York and he needed to talk to Nevada. Paid well so I let him. It seemed important.” Another pause. Then, tinged with disbelief, “ _New York._ We didn’t think anyone was alive out there.”

Vanessa had and now she wants to scream it from the rooftops: “ _they’re alive! I told you they would be!”_

Well. One of them…

“Was anyone with him?” she presses, digging her nails into her palm. Javier is looking at her like she’s lost her mind, but she doesn’t care one bit.

“Yeah,” the station manager says. “Another man and a kid. Didn’t get their names.”

 _Usnavi and Sonny?_ Maybe. That’s what she’s going to believe right now, what she _has_ to believe.

_Alive, alive, alive, ALIVE._

“And what happened to them? Are they still there?”

“No. They left this morning. We hadn’t gotten a response from Nevada, so they decided to keep going west, I think. I figured I could loop it one more time for them. If they really did come all the way from New York it must be important.”

“They did,” Vanessa confirms. “Thank you.”

She tugs her headphones off with shaking fingers. She expected to be overwhelmed with emotion—the urge to run in circles, scream, or cry—but all she feels is sharp, all-consuming focus.

“Send that on to Nevada,” she tells Javier. “ASAP.”

Javier also removes his headphones as she stands. “What’s going on?”

“I have to go,” she says, tugging her coat on.

“Where?”

“East. Colorado.”

Javier grabs her arm. “ _What?”_

“I know him,” she explains, trying to tamp down on her impatience. Javier’s a friend and he deserves at least somewhat of an explanation before she goes charging off into the night, she knows. “Ruben Marcado. He’s my…”

She chokes up, unable to put it into words. “He’s from home and he’s _alive_ and I’m gonna go get him.”

To his credit, Javier doesn’t tell her how insane that is. Probably because he, like everyone else, has people out there, too. He scans every incoming message for familiar names and listens to as many broadcasts as he can. He searches the faces of every new arrival—spurred on by that illogical, unshakable _what if._

“Go,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “I’ll cover for you.”

“Thank you,” she says and takes the stairs down to the street two at a time.

 

_ _

 

She sprints the whole way back to the apartment. Throws the front door open so hard, the knob smashes a hole into the plaster of the wall. Nina comes tripping out of the bedroom with a bat clutched tight in her hands and her eyes wide.

“Vanessa,” she gasps when she realizes what’s going on. “You scared me half to death. Did something happen?”

Vanessa grabs her shoulders. “Ruben is alive.”

Nina drops the bat to the floor with a clatter. _“_ W-what?”

“I heard him on the radio. He’s made it all the way to Colorado Springs.”

Nina’s mouth opens and closes several times and she reaches up to grip Vanessa’s arms hard. “I don’t understand. Why is he in Colorado? Is anyone with him?”

“He’s trying to get to Nevada. I don’t know why, and yes. Two people. A man and a kid, the station said.”

“Usnavi and Sonny?” Nina asks, hope and disbelief mingled in her voice.

“Maybe. Or Pete and Benny, or someone we don’t know, but…”

“You’re going after him,” Nina says. It isn’t a question.

“Yes. I can hitch a ride with some of the supply trucks. I’ve got enough shit to barter. Should be able to make it out to Colorado in two weeks. Maybe less.”

She planned it out roughly on the mad dash home: supply trucks for as far as she can go, on foot for the rest of it. Take the portable radio with her ‘cause she’s managed to wire into most of the secure channels and if Ruben tries to hail Nevada again she’ll be able to pick him up. There’s a gun that they’ve kept stored for emergencies she can take and she’ll spend all her ration cards on supplies if she has to.

“I should be going with you,” Nina says suddenly and the words crack right down the middle.

Vanessa shakes her head. “They need you here. You can’t leave.”

Nina’s face scrunches up, like she’s trying very hard not to cry. Her eyes are gleaming. “But...”

Vanessa hugs her tight. “It’ll be okay. I’ll bring them back home, I promise.”

Nina’s fingers tangle in the back of her coat. “You’d better.”

She doesn’t say _I can’t lose you, too,_ but Vanessa still hears it in the hitch of her breath, feels it in the tears she’s hiding in the shoulder of Vanessa’s coat.

“I will. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Nina nods and pulls back—already almost stitched together again. “Right. I’ll help you pack. There’s a supply caravan heading east at dawn that you need to be on.”

“You don’t have to pull strings for me,” Vanessa says and now it’s Nina who shakes her head, a jagged smile on her face.

“Shut up. Of course, I do. This is …”

“Home,” Vanessa says quietly and Nina squeezes her hands again.

“So we only have a few hours. What do you need?”

 

_ _

 

Five hours later, Vanessa is sitting in the back of a supply truck with her radio strapped to her backpack and a gun on her hip. There is electricity crackling through her veins and down her spine—a roar building in her heart out through her ribs and her lungs:

_ALIVE, ALIVE, ALIVE, ALIVE._

She doesn’t care what it takes. Hasn’t given one thought to the odds that might be stacked against her.

She’s gonna go get her boy. And neither hell nor high fucking water is going to stand in her way.

 

_ _

 

**_Colorado_ **

He wishes he could remember the sequence of events that led him to here: tied to a chair watching his life slowly drip away into the dirt. But it’s a blur.

He woke up in a nondescript room that looked straight out of a horror film, complete with creepy lantern light casting looming shadows on the wood walls. Sonny was next to him. Fuckface was pacing again, demanding to know what information was so important he was willing to walk to Nevada to deliver it.

He thinks he remembers refusing to say anything. Thinks then that he might have pleaded for them to at least take Sonny out of the room for whatever was gonna happen next.

They listened to him—he remembers Sonny screaming profanity as he was dragged away.

Then they hurt him. He isn’t sure how. Only that they did and it went on forever and ...

A hand grips his hair, wrenching his head back and scattering his thoughts like discombobulated pixels.

Fuckface is looming over him. “I’m really getting sick of this, Doctor. Want us to bring the kid back in?”

Oh right. It’s still happening.

He coughs and feels warm blood flood his mouth, bubble past his lips. He’s been trying to keep a mental clock in his head so that he can stall long enough to give Ruben a head start. He has no idea if he’s achieved that goal, but he’s so tired and everything _hurts_ and he really doesn’t think he can hold out for much longer.

A knife glints in the lantern-light as Fuckface (which his tired brain has now shortened to FF) twirls it in his hand. The blade is spotted with red and Usnavi tries not to flinch as FF comes closer. It’s freezing in this room and they took most of his clothes at the start of all this, so at least he can pretend that the shivers wracking his body are from the cold instead of fear.

Until, of course, FF decides to drive the knife into the meat of his shoulder, one agonizing inch at a time. He screams loud and feels blood slide down his chin and splatter onto his lap, creating new spots on his already stained boxers.

 _Oh god oh god oh god it HURTS._ He didn’t know that anything could _hurt_ this much and he once nearly got ripped open by an Infected.

“Had enough?” FF asks, sing-song like a cartoon villain. When Usnavi doesn’t answer fast enough, he twists the knife, drawing out more screams.

 _I can’t,_ Usnavi thinks through the reflexive tears streaming down his cheeks and the agony wailing through every nerve. They’ve hit him and burned him and cut him and stabbed him and he doesn’t have any strength left. _I’m so sorry, Ruben, I can’t…_

“Okay,” he croaks out. “Please … please, I’ll tell you. Please stop…”

“Talk,” FF says. “And then this stops.”

Usnavi sucks in a shaking breath and lifts his head. He wants to see the look on their faces before they kill him for what he’s about to say. “I’m … I’m not him. You grabbed … the wrong person.”

FF gives him a disbelieving look. “What?”

“I’m … Usnavi De La Vega. You—you left Dr. Marcado … out in the snow … to freeze.”

“And how do I know you’re not lying?”

“You … don’t.” He sucks in a rasping breath, trying to gather what little is left of his strength. “But you really wanna risk it?”

FF curses and rips the knife free. Usnavi’s voice is too weak to scream, hitching on a sob instead.

He hunches over, wheezing, as FF starts shouting orders to his minions. Something about searching the woods and “that little rat couldn’t get far” but Usnavi isn’t really paying attention. Black is creeping into the corners of his vision and he really wants to close his eyes and sleep.

A hand in his hair again, yanking him upright.

“Don’t think he’s gonna last much longer,” someone says.

“Get the water,” someone else(?) orders.

A cascade of ice water hits him like a brutal slap, snapping him back to painful awareness. FF is standing in front of him again, twirling that god-forsaken knife.

 _Just do it already,_ he would say if he were braver, but he really doesn’t want to die and his voice isn’t working anymore so he focuses on getting air into his aching lungs and trying to control the chatter of his teeth.

“Stay with us, princess,” FF says and Usnavi can picture Vanessa rolling her eyes at this continued cartoon-villain charade.

He’s not sure if it makes him want to laugh or cry—and oh god, he’s never gonna see her again, is he?

His last memory of her is going to be kissing her good-bye two years ago on a subway platform—her hand cupping the back of his head and his fingers tangled in her long hair.

That realization hurts almost as much as the various wounds on his battered body.

“Get him up,” FF orders with an imperious wave to his minions.

They cut him free of the chair and wrench him to his feet with a bruising grip on each arm.

“We don’t need you alive,” FF says, which great—he knew that already, thanks. He wonders, with a pretty amazing amount of detachment, if it’s gonna be a bullet or the knife or being left to freeze naked out in the snow.

Who knew he would be this calm about dying? Maybe that’s what two years of hell does to you.

FF steps closer and stabs him straight in the stomach. The pain shudders through him like fire, licking out from the knife all the way to his fingertips—not numbed at all by the persistent cold. He gasps around a fresh mouthful of blood, trying to stay upright on shaky legs.

He’s expecting the knife to pierce his skin again, but a second attack never comes. Instead FF orders them to get him dressed, even his boots and sweater, and drag him to the far corner of the room, away from most of the windows. He blinks in sluggish confusion as they tie his hands again—ropes digging back into already-established welts—and set up a portable heater next to him.

What…?

Then he glances down and sees the patch of red slowly spreading across the fabric of his shirt. Understanding hits like a sucker punch: they don’t want him to freeze, they want him to _bleed._ They’re gonna leave him here until he dies of blood loss, hours from now.

FF crouches in front of him, smiling his stupid Negan grin. “Comfortable?”

Usnavi hiccups out a whispery laugh that trails off into another sob when FF sinks the knife back through his shoulder and into the wall behind him, pinning him like a butterfly.

“How about now?”

 _This is overkill,_ Usnavi wants to inform him, but he has to use his voice for something more important.

“S-Sonny?”

“The kid?” At his nod, FF gives his cheek a rough pat. “Don’t worry. We won’t hurt him. Not until we find our mutual friend, at least. We’re not monsters.”

That is definitely up for debate, but Usnavi isn’t about to waste his remaining energy. He sags back against the wall, trying not to focus on the searing knot of pain that was once his shoulder. FF stands and orders two of his minions to keep a lookout before stomping out into the snow.

 

_ _

 

He fades in and out—thoughts briefly amalgamating and then scattering again before he can really grasp them.

He sinks into the past to escape the agony and the steady drip of his life leaving his body. The Fourth of July in the barrio—heat so oppressive you could taste it on your tongue; fireworks lighting up the night; Vanessa twirling in a club—her bright red dress fanning out around her like a flame and Usnavi’s heart caught in throat because she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen; Abuela Claudia clutching her bag full of lottery money with wonder and amazement in her eyes; Pete tagging his goddamn wall; everyone dancing in the street.

Back further: Nina, a firecracker even at thirteen, passing around flyers and explaining to everyone who would listen that they needed to vote; Benny rapping in the park and breaking open fire hydrants in the summer, laughing free and wild as they ran from the cops; Camila cooking him dinner for weeks after his parents died; Kevin offering him as much business advice as possible with a steady, comforting hand on his shoulder; Daniela passing on gossip to keep his mind off the grief, stopping in every day and buying random crap just to make sure he was okay; Carla hugging him long and hard and letting him cry all over her new tank top without a word of protest.

Abuela Claudia weaving him stories from the kitchen table at night and taking him to the church to show him how to light candles for his parents. He can almost feel her now, sitting next to him. Her callused hand holding his own.

_(Está bien, mi amor. No por mucho más.)_

Forward again. The bodega: Sonny reading the morning newspaper like an old man, muttering angrily in Spanish about the various injustices laid out in the pages; Vanessa (it was always Vanessa) accepting her free coffee with a smile and then, later, kissing him with cinnamon on her tongue and an arm strong around his waist—his heart swooping and soaring and his knees weak; Ruben now, perched on the counter with mischief in his smile and love in his eyes, ganging up on him with Vanessa and expanding them so easily out to three.

His heart so full he doesn’t know what to do with it: Vanessa and Ruben and the barrio and Nina conquering the world and Benny with his towering dreams and Daniela with her biting wit and her huge heart and Carla with her easy laughter.

Home, _home,_ he misses it so much. He’s leaving too soon.

( _Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento mucho…)_

They’ll find each other, he tells himself that. Vanessa and Ruben will find each other and Ruben’s cure will save the world and they’ll look after Sonny and grow old and grey together while he watches over them with everyone else who’s already gone.

They’re both so strong and they’ll be okay. He know that in his bones. They’ll be okay. They’ll survive without him. They have to.

Abuela Claudia’s hand tightens in his. She’s singing now, he thinks.

_(“Sigue andando el camino por toda su vida. Respira...”)_

He closes his tear-flooded eyes. The pain is slowly fading into somewhere dull and dark. How long has it been? Not long enough, but maybe he can pass out for the rest of it … that can’t be too much of a mercy to ask for…

_(“Y si pierdes mis huellas que dios te bendiga. Respira…”)_

He hopes that he gave Ruben enough time to get away. He hopes that Sonny will be able to escape. He wishes he could have done more, but he’s learned that death rarely listens to requests for more time.

Distantly, he hears what sounds like shouting. A clap of thunder. God…? Death itself…?

Hands on his cheeks, and a familiar voice, “ _Usnavi…”_

He forces his heavy eyes open. Ruben is crouched in front of him—his blindfold hanging around his neck and blood on one side of his face and fury like a forest fire blazing in his eyes, even though his touch is achingly gentle against Usnavi’s chilled skin.

 _I’m hallucinating._ That’s the obvious conclusion, especially when Sonny appears over Ruben’s shoulder, clutching a gun in his hands. His face pale and his gaze big and young and terrified in the dim light.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, sounding ready to cry.

Usnavi tries to reach for him, reassure him somehow—unable to handle Sonny upset even if it’s a figment of his own dying mind—but his arm is too heavy and even shifting a little sends new sparks of pain jolting through him.

“Don’t move,” Ruben says and his voice is shaking. “Don’t move, cariño _._ I’m going to take the knife out.”

He curls his blood-stained fingers around the hilt and pulls, quick. Usnavi’s vision whites out and he nearly bites through his own tongue choking on a scream. Someone takes his hand, squeezing it hard, and Ruben is saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s over.”

It’s Sonny holding his hand, he realizes.

“It’s gonna be okay, cuz,” he’s saying. “We’ve got you. We’re gettin’ you outta here.”

Usnavi opens his mouth, wants to ask if they’re real or if they’re just here to shepherd him into the afterlife—a comfort that his brain has provided, and if so please can he see Vanessa, too?—but there’s too much _blood._

“Shh,” Ruben says, sawing at the ties on his wrists and easing the rope away from the torn skin. “Shh, don’t talk, Usnavi.”

“Ruben…” Sonny says, voice climbing with the beginnings of hysteria. “Ruben, he’s bleedin’ everywhere.”

“I know,” Ruben snaps. “Help me lower him down.”

More sounds are drifting in: screaming, shrieking, more thunder. What…?  Is the world actually ending?

Ruben and Sonny lay him out on his back and then Ruben is pushing up the end of his sweater and cursing more violently than Usnavi’s ever heard. He stares up at the swimming ceiling, trying to stay present, as Ruben works.

A clink of bottles and a familiar tacky paste spread across his wounded skin. They lift him up again to wind bandages tight around his stomach and shoulder and he sags helplessly against Sonny—Sonny’s tears dripping into his hair.

“We don’t have time to treat the rest,” Ruben says. “But that should stop the worst of it for now.”

“What do we do?” Sonny asks, pulling Usnavi closer.

“You’re going to take him and run,” Ruben says as he stands.

Usnavi squints up at him, feeling like he’s look at a giant. Ruben expands into the whole room—his rage a crackling, near corporeal thing that charges the very air around him. Maybe, Usnavi wonders, this isn’t Ruben at all. Maybe, for some reason Death has chosen to wear Ruben’s skin and now it’s about to wreak havoc.

“What are you gonna do?” Sonny asks.

Ruben picks up his gun from the floor. “Make sure none of them follow us.”

“Can’t the Infected take care of it?”

Infected? Was that the shrieking?

_This is a really weird dying hallucination, brain._

“I’m not risking it. Take him and go, Sonny. I’ll catch up with you.”

“Ruben…” Sonny protests and Ruben pins him down with those furnace eyes.

“ _Now,_ Sonny.”

Sonny stops arguing (which is really a good idea since they’re probably speaking to _Death_ , here) and shifts him again. “Okay, okay, c’mon, Usnavi, you gotta stand up with me.”

He manages to get his feet under him and let Sonny haul him upright. The room spins and he half expects to see his own body still pinned to the wall in the corner, but he’s standing. The two minions on guard duty are dead and the chaos outside seems to be getting closer.

Ruben is already at the door. “I’ll make sure you have a path. Go.”

Sonny tugs Usnavi’s arm over his shoulders and leads them out into the night. It’s hard to walk—his brain doesn’t feel connected to his feet and he has to lean heavy on Sonny for support. 

He’s still not entirely sure this is happening: two buildings are on fire and what looks like a small hoard of Infected are doing a good job of tearing the place apart. It feels surreal, even as he watches a guy get his throat ripped out and dropped dead into the snow like a slab of meat.

Sonny moves away, towards the dark tree line, but Ruben strides right into the chaos, gun raised. Usnavi wants to scream after him, suddenly seized with overwhelming terror. If that’s actually Ruben, he could be walking to his death and then Sonny would have to take the cure to Nevada _alone_ and they can’t let that happen, Ruben is supposed to _survive_ …

But his voice _still_ isn’t working and Sonny isn’t slowing down and the trees are swallowing them whole.

 

_ _

 

He’s not sure how much time has passed when he comes back to full awareness. He’s in the woods, leaned up against a tree, and Sonny has cleared ground for a fire. He feels a little more clear-headed now and pretty sure he isn’t hallucinating, but it’s probably more plausible that Sonny got them out rather than Ruben charging in with a cavalry of Infected.

Still…

He licks his lips and manages to croak, “Sonny.”

Sonny darts to his side instantly. “Hey, hey, welcome back. Don’t move.”

He wasn’t gonna. Everything still fucking _hurts._

“You’re an _idiot,”_ Sonny is saying and his voice is choking with fresh tears. “What the hell were you thinkin’?”

“Had to … keep you both safe,” he whispers, squeezing Sonny’s hand.

Sonny makes a sound trapped somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Yeah, okay, but whadda about _you?”_

“Less important.”

“ _Bullshit,”_ Sonny says. “Bullshit, you ain’t allowed to leave us, remember? You _promised.”_

He did, he knows he did. But he can’t regret his choice. Before he can figure out what to say, the crack of underbrush echoes through their little clearing. Sonny surges to his fit, snagging a gun Usnavi doesn’t recognize and pointing it into the shadows.

“Who’s there?”

“It just me,” Ruben says, stepping into the circle of firelight.

He’s a mess—clothes and skin spattered with dark blood—and Usnavi makes a low sound of distress.

“It’s okay,” Ruben says, kneeling next to him. “None of it’s mine.”

Usnavi frowns. What is he supposed to make of _that?_

“They’re all dead?” Sonny asks and Ruben nods—something dark and unfathomable in his eyes that Usnavi’s never seen before.

He reaches out, tangling his fingers in the front of Ruben’s coat, needing desperately to assure himself that this is still Ruben—still the person that he loves. Ruben curls his fingers over Usnavi’s, tender, and rests their foreheads together.

They stay there for a long moment, just breathing.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get there faster,” Ruben finally says.

“You were supposed to … keep going,” Usnavi huffs. “That was the … _point.”_

“I wasn’t going to let either of you die,” Ruben insists.

 _I still might,_ Usnavi doesn’t say, because even though the bleeding has stopped he still feels weak and fading. Knows his life is still draining away.

Maybe that’s obvious, though, because Sonny says, “he still doesn’t look good, Ruben.”

“I know,” Ruben says, pulling back. “That’s why you need to go get help.”

Usnavi immediately starts to protest, but Sonny is nodding. “Yeah, there’s gotta be people around here, right?”

“Keep going west. Towards Grand Junction. There’s bound to be some camps along the way,” Ruben instructs, handing his gun over.

“Sonny…” Usnavi says, trying to sit up further.

“I know,” Sonny says, coming over to pull him into a careful hug. “I’ll be careful.” Dry lips against Usnavi’s temple. “And back before you know it. Don’t you dare die.”

“Okay,” he lies, pressing his own kiss to Sonny’s forehead. “Okay. See you soon.”

“Hurry,” Ruben says, hugging Sonny, too.

“No shit,” Sonny mutters darkly and leaves the clearing at a jog.

Ruben tends the fire and checks to make sure he’s still warm.

“I’m out of medicine,” he explains. “And bandages. But we should be okay.”

There is so much that Usnavi needs to say: _I love you, I love you, I love you_ and  _I’m sorry_ and _don’t give up after this_ and _find Vanessa and tell her I love her so much, too, and I’ve missed her every single day and I swear I’ll find a way to watch over you both._ But when he opens his mouth, Ruben shakes his head.

“ _No,_ no good-byes. You’re aren’t dying on me.”

“Ruben…” Usnavi protests. They need to face this and neither Ruben nor Sonny should be wasting time with him when they could be heading for Nevada. The clock is still ticking, faster and faster. Usnavi can almost hear it.

“ _No,”_ Ruben snaps again.

“The cure ... you need to leave me, querido _.”_

“I don’t care,” Ruben says, voice breaking. “I don’t care about that. You think I want to live in a world you’re not in?”

“We both know I won’t … make it,” Usnavi whispers.

“No, you _will.”_

He’s so cold and the pain is all consuming and he just wants to _sleep_. Ruben’s hands cup his face. There are tears making trails through the blood on his cheeks and his expression is frantic. “Usnavi De La Vega, you _stay with me.”_

He wants to give Sonny a proper good-bye and he wants to hold Vanessa again and he wants to feel both hers and Ruben’s lips against his own and he wants more _time._ There is so much he needs to say.

But he’s too late. He’s always too late.

The last conscious thing he’s aware of is Ruben screaming his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are deeply appreciated and extremely motivating. I imagine quite a few you want to yell at me, anyway, right? Please feel free to do that here or over on [tumblr](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com).


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it guys, oh my god. You all have been so marvelously patient. I hope I've done this justice.

**_Colorado?_ **

He wakes up, which is really a surprise. And he thinks he’s lying in an actual bed? It _feels_ like a bed and that looks like a ceiling above him. He turns his head and blinks at the sunlight creeping in through the gaps in the blinds, then looks down at the scratchy blankets covering him.

Yep, definitely a bed in a room with a door and a side table and a wall of windows. 

Huh.

His mind feels foggy and his throat is drier than a desert and his whole body aches. He thinks he can feel the scratch of bandages against his skin and wait … someone’s hand is covering his own. He turns his head in the other direction and spots a familiar shock of black hair.

Ruben: passed out in a chair next to the bed, his upper body slumped onto the mattress and his face buried in one sweater-clad arm. Their fingers tangled together on top of the blankets.

All the blood is gone and he’s just Ruben again, but something has shifted, wrenched out of place. Usnavi can _feel_ it, somewhere in his bones. 

And he’s _alive._ Wow.

He licks his lips and tries to call Ruben’s name, but all he manages to get out is a pathetic wheeze.

Ruben still jolts upright like he’s been shot. His blindfold is back over his eyes, which makes Usnavi want to scream in frustration.

“Usnavi…?”

Another wheeze and he manages to twitch his fingers in Ruben’s grip.

“Hold on, I’ll get you water,” Ruben says and shoves his blindfold up. He hisses a little, at the light in his eyes, but still rushes to a table by the door and comes back cradling a small glass

“Slow, okay?”

Usnavi nods, impatient, and Ruben cups the back of his head to keep him steady and dribbles the water past his cracked lips into his parched mouth. It’s heaven. When the glass is empty, Ruben sets it on the nightstand and sinks back into his chair, repositioning the blindfold over his eyes.

“Sonny should be back in a minute,” he says. “And we can get someone to check over your bandages.”

“Where…?” Usnavi forces out, unable to keep quiet when there are so many questions clamoring around in his skull: _how am I alive?_ and _did you really kill all those people?_ and _why are you still here?_ and _what happens now?_

“Grand Junction,” Ruben says and takes his hand again. “You’ve been out for three days.”

_Three days?_

Ruben makes an awful hiccupping sound, like he’s trying to force a sob back down his throat. “Sonny found some hunters that had a truck. We … we lost you twice on the way over. Your heart stopped.”

_Oh God._

Usnavi holds his tongue, sensing there’s more Ruben needs to say. Ruben’s head is bowed and his shoulders are hunched around his ears. When he laughs, it isn’t a pleasant sound. “I thought the world had already ended, you know. Then your heart stopped and I wasn’t sure if we were going to get you back and for two minutes and twenty-seven seconds everything was _ash.”_

Usnavi doesn’t know what say—is still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he _survived_ and still looping the image of Ruben covered in blood with black holes for eyes in the forefront of his mind.

Ruben, angry enough to _kill._

“I’m sorry,” he says and longs desperately for Vanessa.

She would know how to fix this. She was unafraid to wade into the darkest parts of Ruben and sit with him in the gloom until he was ready to claw his way back to the light. They shared some of the same jagged edges—a sharpness he could never understand, only temper, offering love and soft words and unconditional compassion.   

They feel everything so fiercely, his partners—sorrow, rage, hope, love. And while his own heart often resembles an ocean, so big and full he doesn’t know what to do with it half the time, he knows they have darkness in their depths that’s never lurked in his.

But it hasn’t made him love them one iota less and it didn’t used to scare him because it was something they worked out between each other when they needed to, before coming to him.

Now?

Fuck, he’s so scared.

After two years of blood and death and loss, there is new darkness in him, he knows, but nothing like _this._   

 _I need you,_ he thinks brokenly to the Vanessa that still sits in the corners of his heart, wishing he could somehow magic her into existence as he watches Ruben shake. _I don’t know what to do and I need you so much._

“Come here,” he whispers, tugging on Ruben’s hand. “You’re too far away.”

Ruben chokes on another sob but climbs into the bed with him, careful not to jostle any of his healing wounds. He doesn’t want to know how many of those there are. He’s probably going to have a whole new patchwork of scars, but that’s something to face later. Ruben’s fingers are tangled in his own and he realizes with a jolt that their wrists match now: angry lines encircling both—his still a fiery red and Ruben’s a faded white.

Ruben follows his gaze and makes a low, wounded sound in the back of his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps into Usnavi’s hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, querido,” Usnavi murmurs back. “Just hold me.”

Ruben presses his face into Usnavi’s neck and drapes an arm across Usnavi’s chest.  “Te amo _,”_ he says, but it’s weighted with grief.

Usnavi closes his eyes, exhausted and aching. “Te amo _.”_

 

_ _

 

When he next wakes up, Sonny alternates between crying all over him and yelling at him for almost dying for a good half an hour, but then climbs on the bed next to him and lets Usnavi pass out on his shoulder—a possessive arm wrapped around Usnavi’s back—so Usnavi figures they’re okay.

He learns information in increments from Ruben, Sonny, and Susan—the nurse who changes his bandages every day. All of the hospitals in Grand Junction were placed under quarantine at the start of the pandemic, so they’re on the third floor of a converted office building. Two days after he wakes up, they move him from his small, private room onto the main floor.

“To preserve power,” Susan explains.

The floor is quiet—only two other patients near the far end of the expansive space who sleep most of the day. Usnavi’s body is healing very, _very_ slowly and he’s soon bored out of his mind. Ruben usually remains glued to his side, looking ready to attack anyone who approaches that isn’t Susan or Sonny. Normally, Usnavi would love his company, but the air between them is heavy with unspoken things and he _hates_ the expression on Ruben’s face every time his bandages come off: anger, heartbreak, grief, and helplessness all mixed together into a terrible combination.

A week in and Usnavi can’t stand it anymore. He’s tired and irritable and in pain and if they have to fight this out then so be it.

“Why are you still here?” he snaps one morning. The doctors have announced that he can start moving around and Ruben is helping him walk the length of the room and back.

He maybe should have chosen a better time to have this conversation—like when he isn’t hobbling along like an eighty-year-old man, trying not to wheeze with every other breath. But ... carpe diem, right?

Ruben frowns at him in confusion. “I’m not leaving you.”

“We’re on a clock, Ruben,” Usnavi argues. “I’m safe here. You can take Sonny and keep _going.”_

“I’m not leaving you,” Ruben repeats, stubborn.

Sensing a dead end, Usnavi changes track. “Those bandits … did you really kill all of them?”

Ruben tenses, which is answer enough on its own, but Usnavi silently begs him not to lie. He won’t be able to bear it if Ruben tries to lie to him about this.

“Yes,” Ruben says at last and Usnavi rips his hand out of Ruben’s grip, lurching to the wall to keep himself balanced.

He isn’t sure what to feel. Sorrow? Anger? Fear? Mostly he just wants to throw up and _why isn’t Vanessa here?_

He can’t do this.

“Why?” he asks at last, glad that Ruben has given him space. He can’t look at Ruben right now, though. Leans his forehead against the wall and closes his eyes instead.

“They _hurt_ you,” Ruben snaps. “They _tortured_ you. Left you to _bleed to death._ What the fuck was I supposed to do?”

“You didn’t have to kill _all of them_ ,” Usnavi argues. “You could have come with us but you went back to make sure none of them were left. You didn’t have to do that. _Why did you do that?”_

“I couldn’t stop myself,” Ruben admits.

Usnavi finally twists around to look at him. He has his arms wrapped around himself and his head tilted towards the floor. Because of the stupid fucking blindfold, Usnavi can’t see his eyes or really read the expression on his face.

“What?”

“I couldn’t stop myself,” Ruben repeats. “I tried once, even though I don’t think I really wanted to, and I just … _couldn’t._ It was like … like losing my mind.” 

“What are you saying?” Usnavi asks through the dread pooling in his stomach. “ _Ruben_ …”

“It’s getting worse,” Ruben admits. His hands are trembling. “ _I’m_ getting worse. I’ve been having migraines…”

“Then what the _fuck_ are you still _doing here?”_ Usnavi shouts, furious and terrified.

“I can’t leave you!” Ruben shouts back.

“ _Screw_ me, you’re _dying!”_ He’s close to crying again and he squeezes his eyes shut to keep the tears inside, even if Ruben can’t see them. “You said six months…”

“I said that was an estimate,” Ruben counters softly.

“Then _go._ I’ll be fine.”

“And what if I don’t make it back?” Ruben says, stepping closer. “What if something happens and I never see you again?”

“We’ll find a way back to each other,” Usnavi says.

“And if we don’t?” Ruben presses. “I _can’t_ lose you.”

“You can,” Usnavi counters. “You … please, Ruben, you can’t burn the world down if something happens to me. You have to accept that death isn’t something either of us can control and the world won’t end if I’m not in it anymore. There’s still Vanessa and Sonny to think about. This is _bigger_ than you and me.”

He sags against the wall, trying to keep himself upright on wobbly legs. “You killed all those people…”

“I can’t apologize for it,” Ruben whispers. “I just … I can’t. What they did to you … I don’t regret it.

“I’m not asking you to,” Usnavi replies.

It’s gonna take some time to wrap his head around the enormity of everything that’s happened—the way things have shifted and changed between them. He still feels a strange twinge of surprise every time he looks down and sees the bandages and healing wounds littered across his body and his dreams are dark, frightening things that force him awake in the middle of the night with all the air gone from his lungs and a tremor running through his bones.

But his love for Ruben remains steady—a bedrock to rest everything else on. Someday, they’ll be okay again.

He’s gonna keep right on believing that.

“One week,” he says now. “If I’m not well enough to travel by then, you leave without me.”

Ruben’s mouth twists. “Usnavi…”

“ _Promise me,”_ Usnavi says, lacing his voice with rare steel.

Ruben blows out a long breath. “I promise.”

“Good,” Usnavi mutters and holds out his good arm. “Take me back to bed?”

 

_ _

 

That night, Sonny finally manages to force Ruben away to shower and eat something, promising to take over Usnavi babysitting duties for a few hours.

“I don’t need babysitting,” Usnavi grumbles. He’s even strong enough to sit up against the headboard for a few hours now.

“Sure,” Sonny says, unconvincing, and kicks his socked feet up onto the bed.

Usnavi frowns, but doesn’t shove them off. He and Sonny haven’t had much of a chance to talk since shit epically hit the fan and he’s glad for some time alone. “How are you holding up?”

“Me? You’re the one in a hospital bed.”

“Sonny…”

Sonny’s expression falls and he sighs. “I’m okay. Think I’m gonna be havin’ nightmares of you pinned to that damn wall for a while, but I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Usnavi says.

“What for?” Sonny asks, confusion in his voice.

Usnavi shrugs. “Getting you into this mess, letting you get captured, almost dying on you—take your pick.”

“Okay, a) I wanted to come,” Sonny says, nudging Usnavi with his foot. “And I’m an adult so you can’t make me do anythin’ I don’t wanna do. B) that wasn’t your fault and c) that also ain’t your fault. I mean, I’ve probably aged about ten years in the last week, but I’m just glad you’re alive. Just don’t be a martyr next time, yeah?”

“Okay, I’ll try,” Usnavi says with a weak smile.

“Good thing Ruben showed up when he did though, huh?” Sonny continues.

“How … how do you feel about what happened?” Usnavi asks, trying not to be afraid of the answer.

“You mean Ruben pretty much straight up butcherin’ a whole camp of bandits?” Sonny asks with his usual bluntness.

Usnavi winces. “Yeah … that.”

Sonny fidgets with the string of his hoodie. “I dunno. I mean … it was kind of badass, but terrifyin’ at the same time. He’s still Ruben, though, right? That’s what matters.” He shrugs. “This … everythin’ that’s happened? The virus and all the death … I kinda figured it’d only be a matter of time before we had to do somethin’ awful. I mean, I watched _The Walking Dead._ I know the kinda shit you gotta go through to survive. It doesn’t change anythin’ for me.”

That’s a very bleak worldview to have at eighteen, but Usnavi figures it probably matches the garbage fire this country has been reduced to.

“That’s good,” he murmurs, relieved, and decides not to mention Ruben’s admission of getting worse.

Sonny’s got enough shit to deal with, especially because … “can you do something for me?”

“What is it?” Sonny asks, wary.

“In a week, if I’m not okay to travel, make sure Ruben leaves? We’re running out of time and he needs to get to Nevada.”

“And leave you here,” Sonny says with a deep frown.

“Yes. For now. Until the cure is delivered and Ruben is better. You can come back for me.”

Sonny still looks dubious. “I…”

“Please, Sonny,” Usnavi says and Sonny sighs.

“Fine. I promise. Just … just _you_ promise me you won’t do anythin’ stupid and you’ll wait _right here_ until we come back for you.”

“Cross my heart,” Usnavi says, drawing an X across his own chest for emphasis.

Sonny gets up to hug him and he leans into it, letting his eyes drift shut. 

 

_ _

 

**_Twenty miles from Grand Junction_ **

Supply trucks got her as far as Salt Lake City before informing her that no one goes further east due to increased outbreaks. The convoy leader was nice enough to give her a few days’ worth of supplies—enough to get her to Grand Junction, at least—and left her at the city limits with instructions to be careful.

She’s been walking for two days, trying to stick to open spaces as much as possible. There was a large pack of Infected roaming the borders of the Uintah and Ouray Reservation, but it looks like they were being chased by a group of Native American hunters and she was able to skirt around the edges of the chaos, sticking to the underbrush as much as possible.

She’s never spent this long in nature in her life and she finds the quiet strange and unnatural. The brown earth stretches out for miles all around her, littered with the occasional tree and spindly, sad bushes. She aims for the mountains filling the horizon, and tries not to let the loneliness seep too far into her bones. Out here, it’s easy to imagine that she’s the last person left on earth.

She stops twice a day and every evening to fiddle with her portable, trying to pick up Ruben again. So far, no luck. Just the usual messages and some reports from mobile hunting groups: staying out for another day; Infected spotted at these coordinates, steer clear; bandit camp destroyed a few days ago—looks like more than just Infected, be cautious when traveling nearby.

 _Finally,_ on the third day, just past the Colorado border, his voice finally crackles through.

“Nevada Research Facility, this is Dr. Ruben Marcado, currently in Grand Junction. I have critical information to relay, do you copy?”

It loops for ten minutes, shot through with static, but she hangs on every single one of the twenty-one words.

Then it sinks in. Grand Junction. He’s in _Grand Junction_ and she’s almost positive she saw a sign less than an hour ago saying that’s she’s twenty miles away.

Twenty miles. The sun is setting and she should probably find a safe place to camp, but fuck it. After _two years,_ she’s only twenty miles away. She’ll walk until her legs fall off.

Of course, because her luck was bound to run out sometime, she’s picking her way through the outskirts of Fruita when she accidentally breaks a window trying to maneuver in the dark. The sound of shattering glass is louder than a gunshot in the still night and a chorus of shrieking rises in its wake.

_Crap._

She clicks her flashlight on and starts running, letting the small circle of light guide her through the crumbling buildings. She can hear the Infected approaching, closing the distance with each step—their howls like the screams of the dying. 

She changes course, ducking into an abandoned house. Footing is precarious, but she manages to kick a coffee table into the path of the Infected, sending two toppling to the floor. She empties two bullets into one and shoots the second in the face before running again—three still in pursuit.

In one of the bedrooms, she can see a shattered window and skids towards that, slamming the door shut behind her. The lock is still intact and she turns it as the door shudders from the Infected throwing themselves against it. Their claws scratch loud on the rotting wood and they’ll be through in a few minutes, less...

Think, _think …_ there.

A dresser.

Fueled by adrenaline, she rushes over to it and pushes it in front of the door, gritting her teeth against the strain in her muscles and the screech of the legs on the floor.

Hopefully that will give her enough of a head start to get away.

She climbs through the broken window, barely feeling the scrape of glass against her palms when she grips the edges of the frame, and hits the dirt in a clumsy crouch outside. She doesn’t pause to get her breath back, running as fast as she can through the uneven fields—her heart pounding an erratic rhythm in her chest.

It’s one thing to see Infected on news reports and from a safe distance. Encountering them up close is a whole different level. She’s still shaking when she makes it back to the highway and sees the road sign saying that she’s only ten miles outside Grand Junction.

Her legs feel like someone has removed all the bones from them and leftover terror is still clawing at the back of her skull, but she pushes onward.

Ten miles, she can do this.

 

_ _

 

The sun is up when she finally reaches the city border and it’s the most beautiful fucking thing she’s ever seen—most of the buildings intact and majestic mesas on all sides. She doesn’t even mind when she’s stopped and searched and scanned by a patrol. They’ve erected a towering fence around the main city, effectively enshrining the downtown area from any outside dangers.

They ask her the usual questions: why is she here, where is she coming from, is she traveling alone, etc.—and look very surprised when she mentions that she’s come from California.

“You’re going the wrong way, miss,” one of the guards says.

“I’m looking for someone,” she explains. “The doctor on the radio, Ruben Marcado?”

The group isn’t familiar with the name, but radio some colleagues who confirm that there were three new arrivals last week and one of them was a doctor.

“They’re at the infirmary,” Guard Two says. “Colorado Avenue. There should be a sign on the building.”

_Infirmary?_

She pushes aside the fear. They didn’t say that any of the arrivals are dead and everything else is manageable.

Guard Two draws her a crude map of instructions and sends her on her way after confiscating her gun, explaining that no weapons are allowed inside the city limits.

“Here’s a ticket for it, if you want it back.”

She pockets the slip of paper and sets off in search of Colorado Avenue at a jog—a fresh wave of adrenaline sweeping through her.

By the time she finds the infirmary, her heart is making a valiant attempt to climb up her throat and out of her mouth. She’s so close—two years, and at least one of the fucking loves of her life is behind these closed doors.

Her hand is trembling violently when she pushes the doors open. There’s no one around, but a sign on the abandoned desk says that the currently occupied ward is on level three and to please use the stairs to conserve power.

She takes the stairs two at a time and shoves open the door to the ward, feeling like all of her bones are ready to rattle clean out of her skin.

Only one bed is occupied, at the far end, and she freezes ten steps away, pressing a hand over mouth as her eyes flood. There they are: _her boys._ Usnavi is asleep, buried under blankets and bandages, and Ruben is slumped in the chair next to him. His back is to her, but even after two years apart she knows the slope of his shoulders and line of his neck—the patterns the sun casts on his messy black hair.  

His head tilts. “Sonny? Is that you?”

She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out, and she can’t get her feet to move. She’s terrified that if she does, this will shatter and she’ll wake up to discover that she was just dreaming. That they really are gone and she’s not actually here—almost close enough to touch him.

“Sonny?” Ruben repeats and Vanessa drinks in the sound of his voice, a little hoarse but free of static.

 _Move, goddamnit,_ she yells at her feet, but they still won’t cooperate and now she’s standing here like a total idiot, silent tears running down her face and a trembling hand still frozen over mouth.

The chair creaks as Ruben stands. “I know someone’s there.”

His voice has a low note of warning in it that she’s never heard before and Usnavi is stirring on the bed now, blinking his dark eyes open.

Usnavi, _her_ Usnavi—a little leaner than she remembers, but the same big eyes and kind face and long lashes. He’s pushing himself up on wobbly arms and turning his head towards her and …

He freezes, too, eyes widening in disbelief, and a stunned sound slips out of his mouth.

“What is it?” Ruben asks. He still hasn’t turned around and _why can’t she move?_

“I think I’m hallucinating,” Usnavi says and oh God, that’s his voice, she’s actually hearing his voice.

“What?” Ruben says and steps closer to the bed, alarmed. “Why?”

Usnavi raises a timorous hand. There are bandages wrapped around his forearm and an awful red line around his wrist that she can’t think about. He points straight at her and his voice trembles just as much as his hand when he whispers, “Vanessa’s standing behind you.”

Ruben whirls around and there is a thick black blindfold covering his eyes and most of the upper half of his face, obscuring his features. Before she can fully process that, he yanks it down around his neck and shudders, squinting like the light pains him.

Then he’s looking at her and his eyes are widening in an echo of Usnavi’s and his mouth drops open.

“V-Vanessa?”

“You see her, too?” Usnavi asks, sounding close to hysterical, and Vanessa still can’t get her _stupid, stupid_ mouth to _work._

But now Ruben is tripping towards her, gasping, and now Ruben’s hands, callused and rough with little scars, are cupping her face and nothing shatters. He’s here, he’s _real._

“Vanessa,” he whispers with shocked reverence and doesn’t seem capable of getting anything else out.

Forget the city, both of them are the most beautiful fucking things she’s ever seen, even as Ruben’s face crumples and tears stream down his cheeks to land messy on the collar of his sweater.

She finally unsticks her tongue enough to croak out, “hi,” around her own mounting sobs.

Ruben sobs and laughs at the same time and then he’s folding her into his arms and they’re both crying all over the place and she can hear Usnavi shouting from the bed.

When she manages to lift her head to look over Ruben’s shoulder, he’s trying to get up and fuck, she needs to touch him _right now._ Keeping a grip on Ruben, she drags him over to the bed and reaches desperately for Usnavi. He all but crashes into her—their foreheads knocking painfully together.

“Vanessa _,”_ Usnavi hiccups, crying just as hard as her and Ruben are. “ _Vanessa.”_

“Usnavi,” she says, just as breathless. “Fuck, _Usnavi, Ruben…”_

Her arms aren’t big enough and somehow, they all end up piled on the too-small bed in a hopeless tangle of limbs.

All of them are too emotional to speak, but she doesn’t need to. She can say how much she’s missed them, how much she loves them, how amazed she is to see them again, with the press of her mouth to each of theirs and her fingers in their hair and on their skin. They kiss her back with equal fervor and time blurs into tears and kisses and more tears, until she shifts to kiss Usnavi again and he hisses in pain.

She freezes, finally registering just how many bandages are peeking out from beneath his loose clothes. “Usnavi…”

He shakes his head firmly. “I’m okay. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, _come back here.”_

She’s about to, but then Usnavi glances over her shoulder to Ruben and adds, “and put your blindfold back on before you ruin your eyes for good, querido.”

She twists to look at Ruben and he’s also shaking his head, regarding her desperately. “I _can’t,_ I don’t want to, I…”

She doesn’t know what it’s for, senses that this isn’t the time to ask, but the light is clearly still hurting him and that is all she needs to sit up and cup his face. “I’m right here, Ruben. I’m _right here_ and I am _never_ leaving you again.”

He chokes on another sob, but tugs the blindfold back up over his face and she watches as Usnavi sits up to help him tie it with what looks like practiced ease. She has a thousand, a _million,_ questions but they can wait.

Usnavi is reaching for her again now, eyes so bright and full of love it knocks the breath clean out of her. “You’re _here.”_

“I am,” she says, letting him pull her down between them.

“You’re _real,”_ Ruben says and she laughs wetly, nuzzling his cheek.

“So are you.” And crap, she’s gonna start sobbing again any second now. “I love you both so much. I’ve … _fuck,_ I’ve _missed you…”_

“Every day,” Usnavi says, sounding just as close to the edge as she is. “We’ve missed you every single day, hermosa. _”_

“I sent you messages,” she hiccups. “Once a week.”

“So did we,” Ruben says, curling around her—his cheek pressed to the top of her head. “Every Friday.”

Usnavi pauses, reaching over to run his fingers through her hair. “You cut your hair.”

“Yes,” she laughs again.

“I like it,” Usnavi says, choked up, and then they’re all crying again.

She has no idea how much time passes before the fresh round of tears abates and exhaustion starts to creep in.

“I’m sorry,” she says as her eyelids keep drooping closed. “I walked all night and …”

“It’s okay,” Usnavi murmurs, wrapping an arm around her. “Sleep. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Literally nothing on earth could move us right now,” Ruben confirms, a warm presence against her back.

“I love you,” she says - wants to keep saying it forever, has two years of it stored up. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Ruben whispers fervently, kissing the back of her neck.

“Te amo _,”_ Usnavi says, face red from his tears and fingers tangled tight in her shirt. “Siempre _._ More than life itself.”

It’s cheesy and lovely and so _Usnavi_ that she would start crying a third time if she wasn’t so exhausted. As it is, she lets Ruben drape a blanket over them and sinks deeper into the mattress, cradled between them.

She closes her eyes and focuses on the sound of their breathing—Usnavi's heartbeat beneath her palm and Ruben’s mouth brushing her shoulder and neck.  

It’s the best sleep she’s had in two years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are amazing and appreciated and ridiculously motivating! So please let me know what you thought here or come chat to me on [tumblr](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com). <3


	9. Chapter 9

_“VANESSA?”_

Usnavi’s eyes fly open at Sonny’s shriek and wow, okay, it wasn’t a dream? He shifts his head and yes, there she is, lying on the bed between him and Ruben. That’s her arm across his chest and her hair brushing his cheek.

He can feel the warmth of her skin through his clothes—alive and _real_ —and he almost starts crying again.

“Brace yourself,” Ruben mutters suddenly and then they’re both nearly knocked off the bed by Sonny flinging himself onto it. He lands mostly on top of poor Ruben, who groans in protest, and then crawls over him to wrap his arms around a barely-awake Vanessa.

“OH MY GOD!” He shouts. “ _VANESSA.”_

Vanessa hugs him back hard, her eyes wet. “Hey, Sonny.”

Sonny holds on to her for a long moment and then leans back, grinning through his own tears. “I can’t believe you’re _here! How_ are you here? Where have you been? You cut your hair, it looks great! When did you get here? Why didn’t anyone _tell me_?”

He glares at Usnavi, who glares right back. “We cried all over each other and fell asleep. Sorry our first thought wasn’t to go out lookin’ for you.”

“Well, it shoulda been,” Sonny sniffs, all fake haughty. It dissolves quickly, though, into a fresh flood of tears and he hugs Vanessa again like he wants to climb inside her skin.

“I’ve missed you so much. Thank god you’re here. They’re both idiots and I’m turnin’ into an old man tryin’ to deal with all their shit.”

Usnavi squawks in outrage, but is summarily ignored as Vanessa laughs through her own tears and rubs his back. “I’m glad I’m here, too, Sonny. I can’t believe I found you guys.”

“How _did_ you find us?” Ruben asks. He’s almost all the way off the bed—one foot planted on the floor to steady himself—and a quick glance outside confirms that the sun is just about set.

“How about we get the full story over dinner?” Usnavi suggests, still feeling scraped raw and amazed inside—one step away from tears with every word that leaves his mouth, no matter how ordinary.

Vanessa, _here._ Their own private miracle.

“Good idea,” Sonny says and climbs back over Ruben, eliciting another groan. He bows at the waist, completely ridiculous, and offers a hand. “M’lady.”

“Jesus, Sonny,” Usnavi says to mask the smile trying to take over his face.

Vanessa pauses to kiss them both fiercely (Vanessa, _here._ Vanessa’s mouth on his and Vanessa’s fingers tangling in Ruben’s hair…) and then gets up to take Sonny’s offered arm.

“Lead the way, good sir.”

The air is heavy with everything they have yet to say (and Vanessa’s eyes linger on his bandages just like Ruben’s still occasionally do) but Usnavi is content to bask in this for now. The darkness, the burden of the last two hellish years, the gaps that need bridges built over them—it can all wait until after dinner.

He gets to his feet, moving like he’s sixty instead of eighty now, which is progress, and loops his own arm through Ruben’s.

“You keep me upright and I’ll make sure we don’t crash into anything, deal?”

“Deal,” Ruben says and they follow Sonny and Vanessa out to the elevators.

Vanessa keeps glancing over her shoulder at them, like she’s worried this will all disappear if she looks away for too long. It’s the most unsubtle he’s ever seen her, but he’s had his eyes glued to the back of her head since she took a single step away from the bed so he ain’t about to call her out on it.

She looks as incredible as she always has—enough to knock all the air straight out of him—even though it’s a little strange seeing her hair short and wild, curlier than he remembers and stopping at her shoulders. Her body has the same hard leanness theirs do, but her dark, lovely eyes are the same and the wicked curve of her smile is the same and the strength in her hands when they touch his skin is the same.

And time is such a weird, contradictory thing because looking at her now it feels simultaneously like centuries have passed and only a day since he last told her goodbye.

“Can you believe she’s _here?”_ Ruben whispers to him, awed and a little disbelieving.

“No,” he whispers back honestly.

When things got really bad between them, when everything was falling apart in his hands, he got on his knees every night and begged _: please, please just bring her back to us, I can’t do this alone, please…_

But he never really believed it would happen.

(If Abuela Claudia were here she’d be shaking her head at him for his lack of faith.)

They go to one of Grand Junction’s soup kitchens, set up for the many refugees who seem to have descended on the city, and Ruben deposits him at a table in the corner before joining the long line behind Vanessa and Sonny, tugging his blindfold off as he goes. Even having both of them more than ten feet away is almost too much right now and he taps his fingers restlessly, feeling ready to climb out of his own skin.

When they finally get their bowls—Ruben pointing over to Usnavi to assure the woman behind the serving station that he’s not trying to take two portions—and rejoin him at the table, he immediately tangles his feet with Vanessa’s and rests his hand on Ruben’s knee. It’s an effort not to cry into his runny soup at how full his chest feels, closer to whole than he ever thought he’d get again.

Vanessa unfolds her to story to them in between sips of soup and stale bread: living in Palo Alto with Nina, working at the radio station, hearing Ruben’s message from Colorado Springs, riding supply trucks to Utah and then walking the rest of the way to Grand Junction. She glosses over a lot, but Usnavi keeps his mouth shut. She’ll tell them about her sorrows and her fears and the hardships she faced in her own time.

“Nearly got killed in Fruita,” she says, shaking her head in amazement. “They’re faster than I thought they’d be. Had to climb out the window of a house to escape.”

“Yeah, don’t underestimate ‘em,” Sonny agrees. “Got stuck out on a fire escape five floors up once. Had to wait nearly two hours before they gave up and left.”

Wait.

“You failed to mention this to me,” Usnavi says and Sonny gives him a sheepish, too-innocent smile.

“Oops?”

“ _Sonny…”_

“Are you really gonna lecture me right now? After the shit you pulled?”

“That was different and you _know it.”_

“At least some things never change,” Vanessa cuts in when Sonny gears up for another response.

“You have no idea,” Ruben mutters into his soup, the traitor.

Usnavi changes topics, reaching across the table to put his hand on top of Vanessa’s. “I can’t believe you came all the way out here, I can’t believe you’re _here.”_

“Idiota _,”_ Vanessa says, though she turns her hand over to lace their fingers together tight. “Of course I did. I woulda walked to the other side of the globe if it meant finding you.”

Well.

His ribs constrict around his heart and he swallows down a fresh wave of tears. He’s always known that Vanessa loved them—never doubted it for a second, even when it was hard for to her say—but it’s something else to hear these kind of proclamations from her like it’s no big deal. She's looking at them both, defiant, daring them to say something, but Ruben just shifts and puts his hand over their joined ones, eyes over-bright.

Then they all just stare at each other like the lovesick saps they are until Sonny says “get a room” right on cue.

“Not a bad idea,” Usnavi says with an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows, even though Epic Reunion Sex is strangely the furthest thing from his mind right now. His still-recovering body would probably give out on him in furious protest and it’s gonna take time to relearn each other—figure out how to fit together again after two years apart.

Time they don’t have right now.

“Let me at least finish my soup first,” Vanessa says. “This is the first hot food I’ve had in two days.” She points her spoon at him and Ruben. “And you still haven’t told me why you’re going to Nevada.”

Ruben glances around at the crowded tables and shakes his head. “Not here.”

Vanessa shrugs like _fair enough_ and goes back to savoring her soup, hand still clasped in Usnavi’s.

 

_ _

 

Sonny leaves them alone to talk, departing with one last fierce hug for Vanessa, and they all sit cross-legged on the bed in the infirmary, crammed awkwardly together because even one bed over is too far away right now.

“Okay,” Vanessa says after a long moment of silence. “Spill.”

Usnavi blows out a long breath, wondering where the hell to start. It’s Ruben who wades in first.

“I have a cure.”

Vanessa’s mouth drops open. “Really?”

Ruben nods. “It won’t be enough to completely reverse the virus past a certain point, but it’ll keep anyone else from getting sick and I’m sure they’ll be able to develop it further.”

Vanessa leans over and kisses him deep, tilting his chin up so she can slide her tongue into his mouth and _fuck,_ Usnavi’s missed watching them together—the way Ruben’s eyes flutter shut and he melts into it so easy, the possessive arm Vanessa slides around his waist to pull him closer … Jesus, they’re gorgeous. Time won’t ever change that.

“You’re _amazing,”_ Vanessa says when they part and Ruben lights up like he always used to under her praise.

“Thanks.” He fidgets, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt—an old nervous habit he’s kept even after he stopped actively trying to hide his scars. “I just wish I could’ve done it sooner.”

He doesn’t mention Usnavi’s immunity or the fact that he’s dying. Usnavi wonders if they’re meant to tell her separately, if that would be better than dumping everything on her at once, and keeps his mouth shut.

“The facility isn’t answering us,” Ruben continues. “Pretty sure the towers were out further east and nothing was getting through, but all the way out here? You picked it up in Palo Alto.”

Vanessa grimaces. “To be honest, they probably think you’re crazy. They really only answer messages directly from the government in Sacramento. Even then, it’s hit or miss.”

“But they’re still there, right?” Ruben presses.

“Should be. As of two weeks ago, anyway.”

Ruben nods and chews nervously on his lip. Vanessa reaches out brushes her finger over it, stopping him. “We’ll get you there.”

She says it with the unshakable confidence that Usnavi’s always tried to emulate, and his eyes well up for the hundredth time today.

Vanessa, _here._ He’s so glad and he’s so relieved and _please, please don’t ever let her leave us again._

There are a thousand other things they could talk about, but Usnavi still feels exhausted.

“Hey,” he says, drawing their attention to him. “I’m gonna sleep a little. You two keep talking.”

“Usnavi…” Vanessa starts to protest immediately but Usnavi leans in to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, making her words dry up.

“’S okay. You and I can have a turn in the morning.”

There is sad understanding in Ruben’s eyes and he moves to fit his mouth over Usnavi’s, too, licking gently along Usnavi’s bottom lip. Usnavi stiffens for a moment, realizing that this is the first time they’ve kissed since before the bandits and … everything. He recovers, quick, though—never wants Ruben to think he’s withdrawing, doesn’t want to fall back to the terrible place they were before—and brings his good hand up to cup Ruben’s cheek.  

Ruben keeps it short, maybe still sensing some of Usnavi’s hesitation. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

“Yep, just gonna pass out. Have fun, kids.”

“We won’t go far,” Ruben reassures him.

“And we’ll stay here until you fall asleep,” Vanessa adds, stroking a careful hand down his side.

He sighs into the touch, inwardly thrilled she remembers the path she’s traced on his body over the course of numerous mornings and nights in bed. She moves up to his neck as he lies down—back of her knuckles tender and light along his collarbone and up to his hairline. Ruben pulls the blankets back up over him and his eyes are already getting heavy.

He falls asleep the way he never thought he would again: with Vanessa’s fingers on his skin.

 

_ _

 

Vanessa sits for a long moment, just watching Usnavi. His mouth is open, drooling a little onto the pillow, but there is still a small furrow of tension on his forehead and he doesn’t remember it, but earlier, when they were all in bed together, he shuddered in his sleep and made these awful, quiet sounds of distress like Ruben used to in the early days. She rubbed his back and hummed to him until he settled again, but when she glanced over she saw knowing grief on Ruben’s face and she figures Usnavi’s been a lot worse than what she was witnessing.

It makes her heart ache vicious in her chest.

Her boys…

She bends down to peck Usnavi on the temple one last time and leaves him to sleep.

Ruben is hovering a few feet away, arms wrapped around his middle like a brace. She coaxes one loose so that she can take his hand and squeeze it hard.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s an abandoned cafeteria-type space on floor up,” Ruben says, leading her towards the stairs. “I figured we could go there.”

It’s a short flight of steps—would be easy to get back to Usnavi fast if they need to—and Ruben leaves the door propped open after they slip inside. The large windows look out over the city, devoid of lights, and the looming mesas in the distance. She’s never seen stars like the ones out here, not even in Palo Alto—like the entire Milky Way is stretched out in the sky overhead.

She expects Ruben to sit at one of the old tables, but he doesn’t, pacing in a small line across the available open space instead, picking at his sleeves again.

Her heart aches for him, too.

“Ruben,” she says, firm, “talk to me.”

He stops cold and he isn’t looking at her when he says, “I’m dying.”

She still feels like he’s taken a baseball bat to her ribs. “Dying? _How? Why?”_

He sucks in a deep breath and moves over to her, pulling aside the collar of his sweater. In the silvery moonlight, she can see the imprint of a bite mark on his shoulder—teeth that were clearly human once. It’s red and scarred and the skin around it is puckered, like it’s been trapped in the early stages of infection. She reaches out to touch it on instinct and freezes halfway, hand hanging useless in the air between them.

“I … I don’t understand…”

“This was a year ago,” Ruben says softly, shrugging his sweater back into place. “I managed to come up with a first-stage cure, but it only slowed down the progression.” His voice is going cold and clinical—the tone he used to get sometimes when he would describe past horrors to them.

“My eyes grew increasingly sensitive to light, my right hand shakes sometimes really badly, I get migraines and … and I slaughtered a whole camp of bandits last week.”

“The ones who hurt Usnavi,” she guesses, because nothing else would drive Ruben to such an extreme.

Ruben nods. “They tortured him, Vanessa. And then they stabbed him in the stomach, pinned him to a wall with a knife, and left him to bleed to death.”

She has to close her eyes against the flood of helpless _rage_ that triggers, making her skin feel hot and her lungs burn. “And you killed them all?”

“Yes,” Ruben says. “I lured a group of Infected into the camp and set the buildings on fire. Then I made sure to track the leader down, the one who had overseen it all.” His gaze is focused inward now, towards to the past, and he doesn’t even seem aware that his hands have clenched into tight fists at his sides. “I shot him in the stomach and left him to bleed to death in the snow.”

She should be surprised, probably, but her and Ruben have always recognized the darker shades of each other—the sharp parts they sometimes struggle to blunt and dull. In Ruben’s position, she would have done the exact same thing and she knows it. Even wishes she could magic them back to life so she could have the satisfaction of butchering them all over again for daring to lay a finger on Usnavi.

“Good,” she says.

Ruben laughs and shakes his head. “Pretty sure that’s not what you’re supposed to say.”

“Do you regret it?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

“No,” he says without any hesitation.

“Then _good._ They deserved it.”

He shakes his head again and finally unclenches his hand. She can see red welts embedded into his palms from his nails and longs to help him, but holds herself still—unsure if he still needs the same things from her as he did two years ago.

“It’s not that simple,” he says. “I think it … it triggered something. The virus is spreading faster now. I’m … I woke up this morning and I couldn’t remember my mother’s name. I _still_ can’t. Or what my sisters looked like. And … I’m losing time. Little gaps in the day here and there—like I’m constantly waking up and having to remember where I am.”

 _Oh God._ “Ruben…”

“It’s not over yet,” Ruben assures her, coming closer again. “It … if we leave by tomorrow or the next day, we’ll make it to Nevada with plenty of time, but…”

He swallows audibly and reaches for her, taking her hands in his own damaged ones. “If something happens … if we get delayed or the facility won’t accept this or it’s _gone,_ then…”

She knows what he’s gonna ask, she _knows,_ and she wants to put a hand over her mouth to stop him.

“I need you to pull the trigger,” he says before she can force her body to move. “If … if I can’t do it myself. I need you to promise me that you’ll pull the trigger.”

 _“Ruben,”_ she says, voice cracking. She can’t imagine ever being able to do that—being able to hold a gun to his head, look into those big, dark eyes of his, and blow his brains out.

 _Please,”_ Ruben says, voice cracking just as much as hers. He rocks forward and presses their foreheads together. “Please, Vanessa. I can’t … I don’t want to ask it of you, but Usnavi has dealt with enough of my burdens and I refuse to turn into one of those _things_. So please, please do this for me. Please.”

“Okay,” she whispers, because she can’t bear the thought of Usnavi doing it, either. Better her, with her already jagged edges. “Okay, I will. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Ruben murmurs, eyes closed. “I’m sorry.”

She puts her hands on his waist to steady him as he starts to slump against her. “It’s not your fault.”

“No, it is,” he says but doesn’t elaborate, just pulls back and smiles all sad and heartbreaking at her. “We’ve always been disasters without you. Guess this just proves it.”

There is a part of her that she immediately wants to cut out and destroy that’s _glad_ to hear it’s been as much of a struggle for them as it was for her. Ruben looks small and washed out, even more than he was when he first stumbled into their lives—still stitching himself back together after Jamaica—and she can’t imagine what he’s going through. What it would be like to know that such a terrible disease is creeping through your veins, taking more and more of your mind away with each passing day.

“No,” she says, moving her hands up to his face, stroking along his cheekbone. It’s sharper than she remembers and she misses his curves. “You’ve survived so fucking much, Ruben. You’ve made it so far. I’m so _proud of you.”_

His breath hitches into a sob and she can feel him shaking. “It’s been so fucking hard without you, Vanessa, you’ve got no idea…”

“I’m sorry,” she says, not knowing what else to offer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he says, sliding a hand over her side. “I’m so sorry you were alone.”

“I had Nina,” she deflects, but gets the impression that he can see right through her—straight to all of her lonely, desperate nights trying to cope with the void their absence caused in her life and her heart.

He opens his mouth, eyes wet, and she shushes him on instinct. “It’s _okay,_ querido _._ Let’s get you to Nevada first. We can figure the rest out later.”

It will take time, she knows, to sort through their two years apart and everything that’s happened. There are cracks between Ruben and Usnavi where there didn’t used to be and new shadows in their eyes—a reflection of a hell she might never be able to understand.

But she hopes that they’ll have that time now. That she can take them back to Palo Alto and they can settle and _heal_ and work on gluing themselves and each other back together.

“Okay,” Ruben whispers and buries his face in her shoulder. She holds him close, holds him up, and presses kisses to his hair.

“I love you. I love you so much.” She doesn’t think she’s ever meant it more.

“I love you, too. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” she says, fervent. “Me too.”

_ _

 

In the morning, Ruben shoos her and Usnavi out of bed for their own heart to heart and goes to get supplies with Sonny, preparing for their imminent journey west. Vanessa’s been turning over options in her head, ways to get them to Nevada faster, and hopes they’ll be able to reach Nina in Salt Lake City and catch a ride with supply trucks like she did going out.

Nina has almost infinite strings to pull right now, so it’s worth a shot. Especially for something as important as a _cure._

All of that can wait, though. Right now her focus is on helping Usnavi up the stairs to the roof.

“Are you sure about this?”

He nods, jimmying the access door open with a level skill he definitely didn’t have before. When they step out into the morning chill, Vanessa’s breath catches. The sun is just rising and the sky is a brilliant riot of color above the mesas, the morning light painting the brown earth gold.

“Can’t beat the view,” Usnavi says, lowering himself into an old office chair that she’s pretty sure Ruben or Sonny dragged up here for him.

He’s still moving stiff and slow, wincing a lot, but he’s assured her twice now that he’s loads better than he was even just a few days ago. It still hurts seeing him like this: as pale and withdrawn as Ruben—more cautious and sparing with his words, his normally bright smile dimmed by grief.

She longs to hear him ramble at her, hands flying all around to emphasize his points, but she settles for crouching in front of him and kissing his scraped knuckles.

“Talk to me, hermoso _,”_ she murmurs. “Please.”

He shakes his head. His hat has gone missing—taken by the bandits, Ruben mentioned—and she silently vows to find him a new one, even though it will never replace his father’s. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Wherever you need to,” she says, squeezing his hands. “Wherever I can help.”

“There’s so _much,”_ he hiccups. “There’s so much awful shit, Vanessa. You don’t need to deal with all of that on top of whatever you’ve been through, I can’t…”

“Shh,” she soothes. “That ain’t how love works, remember? I’m here, Usnavi. I’ll listen to all of it, I don’t care how terrible it is. We take care of each other, always. And if you need time, I get that, but if there is anything you wanna talk about, I’m _right here.”_

“You are, aren’t you?” Usnavi says, wonder stealing across his face again. “Still can’t believe it.”

“Me neither,” she admits. “I used to sleep with one of Ruben’s sweaters. I wore it so much that it got holes in the elbows and the bottom frayed. And…” she reaches into her shirt and pulls out the butterfly necklace.

Usnavi’s eyes widen. “Holy shit.” He reaches out to touch it, cradling it in his palm. “You still have this.”

“Of course,” she says. “I’m gonna be buried in it.”

He chokes on a wet laugh. “And one of Ruben’s sweaters?”

“Obviously.”

“We had coffee with cinnamon,” Unsavi blurts. “On your birthday and ours and our anniversary. I walked all the way down to the theater district to find cinnamon once, but it was worth it.”

And there goes her heart. “Usnavi…”

“I missed you so much,” Usnavi continues, hunched over. “We both did. We never wanted to do any of this without you. We’re not _good_ without you.”

“Ruben said the same thing,” Vanessa murmurs, smoothing a gentle hand up and down his leg.

“It’s true,” he says and wipes at his leaking eyes. “We … we fucked each other up, Vanessa. _Bad._ We….”

He shivers with something like shame and Vanessa says through the anguish knotting at the back of her throat, “You can tell me, Usnavi. You can tell me.”

“We, um, we started doin' some of the stuff that you and Ruben used to do,” Usnavi says, quiet. The knot tightens. Usnavi was never into any of that before… “But for the wrong reasons. We were both so messed up from everything that had happened and we started takin' it out on each other. It became … became a punishment almost? And we just kept pushing and…” he stops with a low sob and shakes his head. “I should start at the beginning.”

“You don’t have to.”

"No, no I’ll tell you as much as I can. I want to.”

“Okay,” she says and kisses his hand again.

He slides off the chair and they lean against the low barrier running around the edge of the roof, legs sprawled out in front of them. And Usnavi talks.

He tells her about the early days—Daniela and Carla going to a hospital and never coming back; looting and violence in the streets; Infected escaping the overflowing hospital; the army abandoning the city to die; bodies everywhere with no one to bury them—a memorial in the bodega instead, right before the Rosarios left in search of Nina; Pete sick the week after that and Sonny nearly losing it.

He’s got silent tears running down his cheeks by the time he gets to Benny and she holds his hand tight, trying to anchor him as he walks her through a doomed supply run and lifts up his shirt to let her feel the old claw marks spread over his side.

“Nearly took out several organs,” he whispers at her look of horror. “But I lived.”

“How?”

“I’m immune,” he says and laughs, bitter. “Benny wasn’t.”

He won’t elaborate any further, but she doesn’t need more details to picture it in her head—Benny doing what Ruben said he was going to: finding a quiet place to die. Sensing a sore subject, she doesn’t ask about his immunity, either. He’s already plowing ahead, describing Ruben slipping through his fingers. Not eating or sleeping—so desperate to find a cure he was tearing himself apart. Then there is another doomed supply run a few months after Benny: Usnavi begging Ruben to leave the lab for a while.

“Ruben told me about that,” she says. “He got bit and managed to make a drug.”

“Yeah,” Usnavi sighs. “Only he told me he stopped the spread. Let me believe that for a fucking year.”

Shit. Ruben…

“He was trying to protect you,” Vanessa says, though she knows that doesn’t automatically warrant forgiveness. She’d be furious if Ruben lied to her about something that big, too—no matter the reasons.

“I know,” Usnavi sighs. “I just … I’ve been losing him in one way or another for two years, querida _._ I’m still scared that I’ll lose him. That he’s gonna _die_ and…”

She wraps her arms around him, resting their heads together, as he trails off, struggling to get his tears under control.

“The … the sex started after that and just got worse. And then we … I can’t … Ruben should be here for the rest, but I was so afraid we’d ruined each other. Couldn’t even _touch_ him for ages.”

“What changed?” she asks, and thinks she’d be okay if they never told her what shattered them—can’t bear to picture them hurting each other in any way, let alone such an intimate one.

“Sonny,” Usnavi says, lighter now. Smile twitching across his lips. “Sat us both down on the couch and told us to stop actin’ like we were on fucking Jersey Shore. There was enough drama out there in the world and he couldn’t stand it in our home. And then he locked us in the bedroom until we’d sorted our shit out.”

“Of course he did,” Vanessa says with a strangled laugh and makes a mental note to thank Sonny for it later.

“We’re better now, though. We got so much better, at least until … until this mess happened.” He gestures to the bandages still wrapped around his shoulder, peeking out from the edge of his shirt. “

“He told me about that, too.” Vanessa reaches over and carefully traces the edge of the white cloth with her fingertips. “Can’t really say I blame him.”

“I don’t,” Usnavi assures her. “I don’t blame him. I just … it surprised me. That’s all. Someone being able to kill for me. _Ruben_ killing for me. We’ve all had to do some awful stuff to survive, but never that.” He sighs into her skin, eyes sliding shut. “I was hoping we could avoid that.”

She runs her fingers through his hair, combing out some of the tangles still lingering from sleep. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“We’ll be okay,” Usnavi says, though he doesn’t sound completely certain. “Won’t we?”

“Yes,” she assures him, surprised at the lack of doubt she feels. They’ve made it this far separately. Now that they’re all back together, it’s like they’re invincible, even though she knows that’s foolish. “We’ll be okay.”

Abruptly Usnavi starts cry and this is different from the happy tears he shed yesterday, offset by the love in his eyes and the amazed, excited smile on his face. This is sorrow and relief and pain all pouring out of him in a messy deluge—sobs that wrack brutal through his skinny frame, and she’s reminded of when she caught a glimpse of him right after his parents died, crying just like this into Abuela Claudia’s shoulder.

Oh, her sunshine boy…

Aching, she pulls him closer, rocking him gently back and forth, chin pressed to the top of his head. “It’s okay. Let it out, mi amour _._ I’ve got you, I’ve got you. You can lean on me now, Usnavi. You’re so fucking _brave_ and I love you so much. I’m not going anywhere, just lean on me.”

A fire spreads through her as she holds him, setting her ablaze with a renewed sense of purpose. She’s gonna get them to Nevada and then _home_ in one piece, even if it kills her.

They’ll be okay and they’ll heal, all of them. She’ll make sure they have enough time—as long as it takes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always incredibly appreciate and fuel me to write more. Also feel free to come chat to me on [tumblr](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com).


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter and an epilogue guys, can you believe it? We're almost there!

The sun is barely lightening the sky when they make their way to the city checkpoint to retrieve their weapons. Sonny, thrifty person that he is (or maybe just ridiculously persistent), managed to scrape together a decent pile of supplies and his, hers, and Ruben’s backpacks are laden with it.

“I still think I can carry something,” Usnavi protests as they walk.

“Absolutely not,” she says in almost exact synchronization with Ruben.

“Are you crazy?” Sonny adds. “Just focus on not fallin’ over, okay?”

She’s still not sure he should be coming with them, but he was adamant and the thought of leaving him behind was too much for her fragile heart to handle. She can’t deal with another goodbye, and maybe that makes her selfish, but she’s pretty sure Ruben wouldn’t have left him here on his own, either.

He’s got his arm looped through Usnavi’s right now and Usnavi occasionally murmurs to him **.** Things like: “trash in the street, left once” and “street light up ahead, take us right two steps” and “road slopes here, go slow.”

It seems to be a well-worn routine for them—Ruben listening to each of Usnavi’s instructions without any hesitation—and she wonders how many more of these moments she’ll be tripping across in the future. Habits and memories and patterns they’ve created while she was gone, that she is no longer a part of.

Usnavi glances up at her and she immediately tries to wipe away whatever expression might be on her face. None of this is their fault.

But like always, Usnavi sees straight through her and urges her over with a jerk of his head.

“I’m tired,” he announces even though he doesn’t look winded and they’ve only been walking for ten minutes. “Go with Vanessa for now?”

Ruben stiffens slightly, clearly reading this as a rejection, and Usnavi kisses the corner of his mouth in silent reassurance. “She’s gotta learn sometime, eh, _querido?”_

Ruben’s shoulders slump in transparent relief. “Right.”

Sonny circles back around to them, taking Usnavi’s arm from Ruben. “Come on then, old man.”

“Shut it, brat,” Usnavi gripes.

“I _will_ drop you,” Sonny fires right back.

“I can _stand_ on _my own_. My legs ain’t injured.”

They start walking again, shuffling a few steps ahead as they continue to bicker.

“You know,” Vanessa says to Ruben, “I think they’ve gotten worse.”

“Pretty sure it’s a coping mechanism,” Ruben replies, taking her arm. “But don’t quote me on that.”

She files that away for later and presses herself up against Ruben’s side. “So, how do I do this?”

“Just tell me if there are any obstacles coming up and where to step,” Ruben says. “Feel free to pull me out of the way of something if you need to, but I usually like doing it on my own if I can.”

Yeah, she can’t imagine that yanking Ruben around anywhere would go over well.

“Sure. Sounds easy.”

And it is. The trick is to keep paying attention to her surrounding and not get too caught up listening to Usnavi and Sonny or talking with Ruben. Which happens near the checkpoint and she walks Ruben right into a big pothole on the street. He trips with a startled gasp and she catches him right before he falls face-first onto the asphalt.

“Shit! I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he reassures her, straightening again and adjusting his backpack. “Usnavi walked me into all kinds of stuff when we were first starting out. Including several puddles of ice water. So, you’re doing great.”

“Thank you for the validation,” she says as she retakes his arm. It’s weird, not being able to see his eyes. Going to take some getting used to. At least his smile is still as charming and crooked as she remembers.

“Any time.”

They make it the rest of the way to the checkpoint unscathed and turn in their receipts. She gets her pistol back and is surprised when the guard hands over two rifles, a pistol, a baseball bat, and a crowbar for Usnavi, Sonny, and Ruben.

“Impressive arsenal.”

“Not really,” Sonny says, slinging one of the rifles over his shoulder and handing the other to Usnavi. The baseball bat clips to the back of his pack and the crowbar and pistol go to Ruben. “You shoulda seen some of the stuff people from New York were packin.’ Pretty sure this one guy had an actual hand cannon.”

“Shotguns were very popular,” Ruben says, wry.

“Can’t beat a good baseball bat, though,” Sonny says, reaching back to pat it.

“New York drove you guys a little crazy, huh?” Vanessa jokes because it’s that or once again try to face the reality of what they’ve lived through in the past two years.

“Just a little,” Usnavi reassures her.

“Not much more than we were before, really,” Ruben says and Usnavi laughs.

“Yeah, some of us more than others,” Sonny snarks and gets elbowed by Usnavi for it.

Weapons all in place, they pass through the checkpoint and back out onto the highway. It stretches before them in a long ribbon of black, miles and miles.

“Okay,” Usnavi says with fierce determination. “Let’s do this.”

“Homestretch,” Vanessa agrees.

“Amen,” Ruben says.

“’Once more unto the breach, dear friends’,” Sonny says. Usnavi looks over at him in surprise and he crosses his arm defensively over his chest. “What? I read.”

“Shakespeare?”

“Anything.”

Usnavi shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “Fine, ‘once more unto the breach.’ Vamos _.”_

They start walking.

 

_ _

 

It’s slow going, between Ruben needing guidance and Usnavi’s injuries. By the time they decide to make camp for the night, they’ve only traveled about seventeen miles. Vanessa internally adjusts her mental projection of how long it will take for them to reach Salt Lake City, tacking on a few days.

Hopefully Nina can come through with those trucks.

They have a fire going and are clearing spaces to sleep in the brush when Ruben starts coughing violently. Usnavi is closest to him and moves faster than he has all day—by his side to catch Ruben as he starts to drop to his knees, lowering him down gentle.

“ _Ruben,”_ he says, voice high with terror.

Vanessa hits the dirt on Ruben’s other side, hand over Usnavi’s on Ruben’s back, while Sonny hovers nervously.

It goes on for what feels like forever and in the flickering light she can see black liquid spilling past Ruben’s lips. He bends over the arm Usnavi has braced across his middle and hacks some of it into the dirt—whole body shaking.

“What the hell was _that?”_ Sonny asks when it finally subsides and Ruben sits back with a shaky sigh, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“It’s in my veins,” Ruben explains, clinical, and rolls up his sleeve. There are black lines visible beneath his tan skin, spider-webbing from his wrist all the way up to crook of his elbow.

Stage four, Vanessa vaguely remembers from the early news reports. First sensitively to light, then headaches, then memory loss, then black blood and a fever, and then, finally, the disintegration of higher thought processes and the emergence of highly aggressive behavior.

“Oh my god,” Sonny hiccups in dismay.

Vanessa refuses to think about the promise she made to Ruben as she watches Usnavi put a trembling hand over his eyes to hide his gathering tears.

They’re gonna make it. _They are._

 

_ _

 

The coughing gets worse, assaulting Ruben in waves throughout the day. It becomes almost a warped routine. He’ll stop walking and hunch over and Vanessa or Usnavi will hold him until the worst of it subsides.

He also writes in his journal every night, words upon words. At first, she thinks it might be the equations or formulas he always used to scribble down, but when she catches a glimpse of it one day out from Salt Lake City, she sees that it’s information—a timeline of his life from childhood to the Heights. (Though there are gaps she sees, question marks next to the name of his university and some of the years left blank, like he can’t exactly remember _when_ certain things happened anymore. One of the blanks is next to their first date and it’s so hard not to cry and give herself away.)

Her and Usnavi also each have a column, and under their names Ruben has written down random facts about them:

 

USNAVI

  * _Makes the BEST coffee_
  * _Great at rapping_
  * _Lost his parents as a kid – inherited the bodega from them (doesn’t like to talk about it)_
  * _Positive and supportive, always (kindest person ever)_
  * _Good shot with a rifle_
  * _DON’T talk about Benny, either._
  * _Immune to the virus (still don’t know why, further testing required)_
  * _Been dating for three years (dated Vanessa for a year before we met)_



VANESSA

  * _Gone for two years in Palo Alto (got stranded at the start of the outbreak)_
  * _Used to work at the salon and then for a fashion magazine?_
  * _Cares more than she lets on_
  * _Usually knows what to do (so strong)_
  * _Doesn’t like to talk about family, either_
  * _An amazing dancer_
  * _Likes cinnamon in her coffee_
  * _Been dating for three years (though I met Usnavi first?)_



She only skims the lists and shuts the journal without reading any more—too close to tears to continue. Ruben notices her setting it down and she flushes, guilty, but he only reaches over and takes her hand.

“I’m still here,” he whispers, though he sound like he’s trying to make himself believe it, too.

“You are,” she agrees, squeezing hard. “You’re still here.”

Fading, though—faster and faster. Slipping through their fingers, just like Usnavi said.

 

_ _

 

They reach Salt Lake City on the fifth day. Both Usnavi and Ruben are exhausted, though Ruben stiffens when they approach the checkpoint, snapping to sudden alertness.

“What’s wrong, querido _?”_ Usnavi murmurs.

“I’m going to test positive,” Ruben murmurs back and all of them suck in a sharp breath. “It’s progressed too much to keep off the scanners.”

“Shit,” Usnavi breathes, shooting a dismayed look over at her. She’s kicking herself for not having considered that.

Well, time to step up to the plate, then.

“Let me handle this,” she says, throwing her shoulders back.

The checkpoint guard is thin and tall with a messy red beard and a slow southern drawl. He waves Usnavi and Sonny through first, frowning dubiously at Ruben’s blindfold. Vanessa holds Ruben’s hand tight in her own as she’s scanned and then it’s Ruben’s turn.

He’s holding his breath, she can see it, and sure enough the scanner beeps loud after a moment and the guard’s eyes widen.

“You’re infected.”

“Technically, yes.” Ruben says and gets a gun leveled at his face.

“Wait,” Vanessa snaps, stepping in front of him.

“Infected have to be put down,” the guard says, shaky with nerves. “That’s the protocol, ma’am. Please move aside.”

“You’re not gonna shoot him in broad daylight,” Vanessa says, keeping her voice calm. “Protocol is an injection before the disease has reached full mutation. And he’s not dangerous. You need to let us through.”

“Ain’t lettin’ an Infected into the city,” the guard argues, still not lowering his gun. Over his shoulder, she can can see Usnavi and Sonny watching this with barely conceal terror, hands hovering near their own weapons.

“I still have all my cognitive functions,” Ruben says. “And we’re only passing through.”

“We need transport to Nevada,” Vanessa elaborates and the guard gives her an incredulous look.

“Only people goin’ out to the research facility is supply trucks and they ain’t a taxi service. Specially not for an Infected.”

"This is a matter of life and death.”

The guard laughs. “You looked around recently, lady? _Everythin’s_ life n’ death these days.”

Oh, enough of this.

“Fine. Get Nina Rosario from the Palo Alto Supply and Refugee Center on the radio. She’ll approve it.” This is faster than trying to find a station to radio Nina themselves, anyway.

The guard snorts. “Right.”

“Just do it, will you?” Her free hand curls into a fist at her side as her patience begins to fray.

The guard eyes them warily, but backs up towards the control booth. “Don’t move.”

“Are we sure this going to work?” Ruben leans forward to whisper as the guard disappears inside.

“Nope,” Vanessa says.

“Oh, good.”

“You got a better plan?”

“Not in the slightest,” Ruben says, sounding oddly cheerful. “You’re the one with the plans in this relationship, remember?”

At least he’s still as ridiculous as he used to be.

The guard is gone long enough to make her nervous, but he returns wearing an incredulous expression painted across his face. “You’re free to go. There’s a convoy leavin’ in four hours that’ll give you a lift.”

Vanessa smiles with all her teeth. “Perfect.”

She shoulder past him without any expression of gratitude, ignoring his “don’t be causin’ no trouble, though” and trying not to smile when Ruben says “savage” under his breath. He sounds impressed. Vanessa might be a little bit proud.

Usnavi wraps his arms around them both when they make it through the gate. “ _Dios mio._ I think I just grew, like, fifty new gray hairs.”

“Vanessa had it,” Ruben says, smiling.

“Damn straight,” Vanessa says through her own weak-kneed relief. “Though we owe a big thank you to Nina when we get to Palo Alto.”

“You’re a badass,” Usnavi informs her with a kiss on the cheek. “Nina, too.”

“Okay, children,” Sonny calls.  “Can we move away from the twitchy guards with the guns, please?”

“Come on,” Vanessa says, taking both of their hands. “We’ve got some time to kill. You both should rest.”

She checks them all into one of the city’s hostels and stubbornly tips Ruben and then Usnavi into narrow beds. They’re both asleep within minutes of each other. Sonny crashes out on a third bed, but she sits between her boys, back against the wall, and watches them breathe.

 

_ _

 

The leader of the supply convoy is dubious about their presence, especially the coughing fit that Ruben has ten minutes after they depart, but doesn’t voice any of the complaints that are probably running through his head. They’re crammed in the darkened back of one of the covered trucks—military issue—amongst boxes and crates of food and what looks like medical equipment.

It’s a seven hour drive to the facility just outside Reno and the only view they’ve got is a small square of desert and road from the gap in the canvas. Usnavi sleeps with his head on her shoulder, eyelids almost bruised with his exhaustion, but Ruben huddles in a corner and just stares at the opposite wall, eyes far away.

Four hours in, he’s starting to look feverish and his body is shaking. The solider riding in the truck with them fingers his rifle. “What’s wrong with ‘im?”

“Nothing,” Vanessa says, shifting Usnavi onto Sonny and crawling over to Ruben.

“Don’t _look_ like nothin’.”

“He’s fine.”

She brushes his sweaty bangs off his forehead, making a stupid mental note to fix them when they get to Palo Alto, and keeps her voice low. “We’re almost there, cariño _._ You gotta hold on.”

Ruben’s eyes focus slowly and he reaches out a trembling hand to touch her own. “I’m still here.”

“Good,” she says and his skin burns hot against her lips when she kisses his temple. “Just stay with me.”

Sonny is watching them with worried eyes, but doesn’t say anything, and Usnavi mercifully remains asleep and oblivious.

The highway unspools out behind them, but it doesn’t feel fast enough.

 

_ _

 

The research facility sits in the mountains, thirty miles north of Reno and surrounded by what looks like several layers of towering fences that would put the Soviet Iron Curtain to shame. The convoy goes through three checkpoints before they’re parking in front of main building.

“They’re waiting for you inside,” the convoy leader tells them and then strides off without a backward glance.

Ruben looks like a strong breeze could tip him over, but he rolls his shoulders back and crosses the threshold into the cool air of the facility like he owns the place. Vanessa is definitely impressed.

Her, Usnavi, and Sonny all trail behind Ruben like a small group of ducklings, gawking at the vaulted ceilings of the entrance hall and how _clean_ everything looks. They’ve been bathing in rivers for the past week (or months, for Usnavi, Ruben, and Sonny) and their dusty shoes are already staining the pristine floors.

 _Good,_ Vanessa thinks a little savagely.

These assholes have been holed up in their ivory tower while everyone else suffers, insisting they were doing everything they could. But a chemist in a condemned city with a makeshift lab and hardly any proper tools got further than they and all their fancy equipment did.

Thinking about it, she kind of wants to leave handprints on all the walls, too. Just for good measure.

A woman in a lab coat and heels ( _heels!)_ emerges from an opaque door at the back of the room. Her shoes clack loud in the cavernous space as she approaches them, stopping a few feet away. She’s probably the cleanest person Vanessa has seen in two years—auburn hair pulled back in an immaculate bun and skin almost as pale as the blinding room around them. It kind of feels like looking at an alien.

She stops a safe distance away and frowns at them, lingering on their bedraggled clothes and Ruben’s blindfold.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Dr. Ruben Marcado,” Ruben says. “I’ve been sending you messages.”

“We might have received one a while ago,” the woman says dismissively. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re _here_ or why we got a call from Palo Alto to allow you entrance.”

Ruben smirks, sharp. “I have a cure.”

The woman scoffs. “Impossible.”

Ruben sets his pack on the ground and crouches to open it with deft fingers, oblivious to the woman’s cringe at the small cloud of dirt it kicks up. Vanessa isn’t and hides a smile.

“Here,” he says, holding up one of his worn notebooks. “Turn to the last three pages.”

The woman takes it like it might bite her and obeys, flipping quick through the decaying pages. It’s obvious when she gets to the right one because her entire body goes very, very still. Vanessa’s pretty sure if she wasn’t so ridiculously composed, her mouth would be hanging open.

“This is…”

“Yes,” Ruben confirms.

She looks up at him in amazement. “How on earth did you manage this?”

“Doesn’t matter. Can you synthesize it?”

The woman glances back down at the notebook. “Yes, we should be able to. We’ll need to test it, though…”

“Great,” Ruben says. “You can test it on me.”

He pulls back his shirt collar to show her the bite wound and she staggers back a few terrified steps. “You’re _infected?”_

Ruben shrugs his shirt back into place. “Relax. Before I managed that, I found a way to slow down the progression of the virus. We have a few days yet before I go feral. That should be enough time, right?”

The woman is gaping now, dignity forgotten. “I…”

“Time is of the essence, though,” Ruben says, a little impatient now. “So can you do it? Yes or no?”

“Y-yes,” the woman stammers out. “Where … where did you say you were from?”

“New York,” Ruben says and the woman’s mouth falls open again.

 

_ _

 

The woman, they finally learn, is Dr. Sharon Brooks—one of the lead scientists on the development team. She rattles off her title like they’re supposed to be impressed, but Vanessa definitely isn’t and Ruben looks even less so.

There is a minor incident when she informs them that her team will need to put Ruben in quarantine until they can test the drug on him. Quarantine, away from them—in an entirely separate building. They all start to kick up a fuss, but Ruben shakes his head at them, stumbling over to run his fingers over Usnavi’s face and then hers.

“I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“Querido _…”_ Usnavi says, voice cracking.

“I’ll be okay,” Ruben repeats, firm now. “The hard part’s over, Usnavi. We made it.”

Usnavi finally relents and Vanessa leans in to hug Ruben tight. “Be careful.”

“Always am,” Ruben says, which is such a lie, but Vanessa’s too emotional to call him on it.

He glances at Sonny. “Look after them?”

“’Course,” Sonny says with a fierce hug of his own and then Ruben is being swallowed up by an entire brigade of lab coats and hurried from the room.

For the rest of them, the next few hours are a blur of going through decontamination (and shouting at the doctors to be _careful with Usnavi_ , for the love of god), then a shower (which is _heaven),_ then putting on an ugly pair of scrubs and slippers while their clothes are laundered, and being shuffled into a dormitory room.

Everything is depressingly white and almost weirdly futuristic. She feels like she’s in a strange sci-fi movie and as soon as they’ve been left alone, she crosses the hall into Usnavi’s room so she can wrap Usnavi up in her arms.

They’ve put clean bandages over the worst of his wounds and with a shower and clean clothes he looks the best she’s seen him yet, but he still slumps into her in obvious exhaustion.

“We made it.”

She cards her fingers through his damp hair. “Yeah.”

“He’s gonna be okay?”

“Yes. It’ll work. Ruben’s never wrong about these things, remember?”

Usnavi snickers, lightening a little. “Did you see her _face?_ I wanted a camera so bad.”

Vanessa laughs. “Me too. Damn.”

“That’s Ruben for you, isn’t it? Always blowin’ people outta the water.”

“And then being surprised by _their_ surprise because he always forgets how fucking _smart_ he is.”

“I love him so much,” Usnavi whispers. “You think he knows that? Things … things haven’t been great, but I’ll always love him so _much,_ Vanessa.”

“I know,” Vanessa says, chest full and aching. “I love him a stupid amount, too. And I’m pretty sure he knows. I mean, I think we poured it into him so much in the beginning, it’s lined his bones now.” She pauses. “That sounded better in my head.”

“No I get it,” Usnavi says, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger. “That was always my goal – make sure he’s always able to feel it, even when stuff is shit.”

“Mine, too.”

Usnavi hums, quieting again, and Vanessa shifts down to kiss him because not nearly enough of that has happened since their first joyous reunion. He sighs into it, content, and opens his mouth under hers, letting her slip her tongue inside. She was half expecting it to heat up but it doesn’t—stays slow and languid and perfect, just a little messy. An echo of the mornings they’ve spent making out in bed, still sleepy and warm with affection.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever have words to make him understand how much she’s missed him.

They’ve shifted, Usnavi lying on the mattress and Vanessa hovering over him, and she’s kissing a gentle trail down his neck when she feels him go limp beneath her. She has a moment of blinding panic before she realizes that he’s actually just fallen asleep, completely exhausted.

“Oh, querido _,”_ she murmurs, tender, and drapes a blanket over him. She’s going to leave him to sleep, but as she shifts to get off the bed he reaches out a fumbling hand and snags the sleeve of her scrubs.

“Stay, _please.”_

“Of course,” she assures him. “Of course, hold on.” They maneuver around until she’s sitting with her back against the wall and Usnavi laid back out on the bed—head pillowed in her lap.

She pets his hair as he drifts back to sleep and aches for Ruben, all alone in quarantine.

Just a few more days, she tells herself. Just a few more days and they can go home.

 

_ _

 

There is hardly anything to do for the next five days, as they’re confined to the residence building and really only allowed to wander for meals. They spend a lot of their boring hours asleep, even Sonny, but Vanessa is still ready to climb the too-white walls by the time they’re finally summoned back over to the main facility.

The Lab Coat Brigade is waiting for them and at the front of the group are Ruben and Dr. Brooks.  It’s bright in the entry room, but Ruben isn’t wearing a blindfold and Vanessa hope beats wild through Vanessa’s heart.

He looks okay, too. No more fever or coughing – might have even put on a little weight since she last saw him. It’s hard not to run over there and pull him into her arms. From the twitch running through Usnavi’s fingers, he’s having the same problem.

“Well,” Sonny demands, “did it work?”

“It worked,” Ruben says. He glances at Dr. Brooks. “And I’ve been poked with enough needles to last a lifetime.”

“We would still like to monitor you for another additional week,” Dr. Brooks says, sounding frustrated. “And of course, offer you a position on this research team. Your help would be invaluable in taking the cure further.”

Ruben shakes his head. “I just want to go home.”

“Of course,” Dr. Brooks says, but then her gaze is fixating on Usnavi. “Though, we would like to speak with Mr. De La Vega.”

Ruben’s gaze snaps to her and he suddenly looks like a cat with its hackles up. “What? We already discussed this.”

Dr. Brooks ignores him. “Would you be willing to submit to testing? Your immunity has been the catalyst for developing the first incarnation of this cure and with further data we would be able to reverse the virus even in later stages of progression.”

Usnavi looks taken aback. “You mean … fix people _after_ they’ve mutated?”

“Yes,” Dr. Brooks says, a bright smile on her face that Vanessa doesn’t like. “This could save potentially millions of lives and—”

“Excuse us a moment,” Ruben snaps and snags Usnavi’s arm, pulling him into an empty office.

Vanessa hurries after them, telling Sonny to wait outside. He protests, but parks himself in front of the door to keep an eye on Dr. Brooks and her minions.

“Ruben,” Usnavi is saying, twisting free, “what the hell…?”

“Say no to them,” Ruben says.

“No? But … you heard her, didn’t you? _Millions_ of lives. I don’t mind bein’ holed up in a lab for a couple weeks and running tests if it means—”

“We’re not talking about a couple weeks!” Ruben snaps and then run an agitated hand through his hair. “Christ, I _knew_ this would happen. Should have kept my _stupid_ mouth shut.”

Vanessa is getting a Very Bad Feeling. “Ruben, what are you talking about?”

“They want your brain,” Ruben says, turning back to Usnavi. “They want to dissect your brain and your blood and your bone marrow—they’re not asking for a few weeks, Usnavi. They’re asking for your _life.”_

Denial roars through Vanessa’s head and punches the back of her teeth. She wants to rush over and physically carry Usnavi as far away from here as possible, but this isn’t her decision and watching Usnavi stare Ruben, stunned, she realizes that for the moment, this might not be her fight.

“You knew this would happen?” Usnavi asks Ruben.

Ruben nods.

“ _How?”_

Ruben’s shoulders hunch with shame. “Because if it was anyone else, if it wasn’t _you,_ I’d be taking their side.”

“So she’s right?” Usnavi presses. “This could save millions of lives.”

Ruben shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“That’s not good enough!” Usnavi yells in a rare display of anger.

“Yes it is!” Ruben fires right back. “It’s the _point._ There is no way to know for sure. You’d been throwing away your life on a _chance.”_

“How big of a chance?” Usnavi asks. Ruben hesitates long enough for Usnavi to take a step forward, expression a strange mixture of fury and pleading. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Big,” Ruben whispers. “I … I was able to develop the first stage of a cure with just some tissue, blood, and fluid samples. With your whole brain…”

Usnavi lets out a shaky breath, wrapping his arms around himself, and now it’s Ruben’s turn to step forward, naked desperation all over his face. “But it’s still just a chance. Please, Usnavi, I’m _begging you,_ don’t do this. I can’t lose you.”

“This isn’t about you and me, though, is it?” Usnavi says, eyes on the floor.

“Yes, it is! It’s you and it’s me and I _love you_ and I _can’t …_ please, Usnavi.”

“There are millions of people out there like us, Ruben. This is bigger. This is … this is the whole country.”

“I said it before,” Ruben says, gripping Usnavi’s shoulders. “I don’t want to live in a world you’re not in.” He presses his forehead to Usnavi’s. “Please, please, cariño _._ Let’s just go home. Haven’t we done enough? Haven’t we _sacrificed_ enough? The statistical probability of you being the only person immune to the virus in the whole of the US is astronomically low. They can find someone else. They’ve sat locked up here for two fucking years ignoring the world. This can be their problem now. We’ve done our parts. Please come home with me.”

Usnavi pulls away slightly and finally looks over at her. “Vanessa?”

She laughs and it’s a wet, thick sound. “What, you think I’m gonna say ‘go for it?’ I just found you again. Ruben’s right, Usnavi. They can find someone else to play a martyr. He already bought them a fucking _ton_ of time. You don’t owe them or humanity anything else.”

Slowly Usnavi nods. “You’re right.” He turns back to Ruben. “You’re right. Let’s go home.”

Ruben half laughs, half sobs in relief and pulls Usnavi in for a searing, passionate kiss. “Thank you, thank you.”

“I love you, too,” Usnavi says, leaning back in to kiss Ruben again, and Ruben smiles through his tears, elated.

Vanessa stops hovering and swoops in to kiss them both. “Idiota _,”_ she says to Usnavi when she pulls back. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I won’t,” Usnavi says. “Take us home?”

 _That_ she can do.

The Lab Coat Brigade is waiting anxiously outside when they reemerge—Dr. Brooks’ heels _clack clack clacking_ as she paces.

“I’m not staying for tests,” Usnavi says in a tone that leaves little room for argument.

Brooks still tries, hurrying over to them. “I urge you to reconsider. Please, Mr. De La Vega, think about what’s at stake here. This is the future of our _country_ we’re talking about, you can’t just—”

She reaches for his sleeve and suddenly Ruben is there. Vanessa didn’t even see him move.

“He said no,” Ruben says, steel in his voice and shadows in his eyes. “We’re leaving.”

Brooks’ face twists in frustration but she sighs. “Very well. We’re not barbarians, we won’t hold you here against your will.”

Ruben expression clearly speaks of the pain that will befall them if the even dare to try that and Brooks takes another cautious step backward. “And we’re very grateful of course, for everything that you’ve done. There will certainly be commendations in your future. Numerous ones. But for now, if there is anything we can do…”

“Transport to Palo Alto,” Vanessa chimes in. “Soon as you can.”

Brooks inclines her head. “Very well.”

“And all of our stuff back,” Sonny pipes up.

“Of course. We’ll arrange it immediately. Please be prepared to leave within the hour.”

She signals to her minions and they all scurry down the hall in a flurry of white. Ruben doesn’t move from his position guarding Usnavi until they’ve vanished from sight.

“Did you really think they were gonna try to take me by force?” Usnavi asks when they’re alone again.

“Desperate times,” Ruben mutters and that’s answer enough.

“Let’s go,” Vanessa says, reaching for both of their hands. “I wanna get out of here.”

“Amen,” Sonny says. “This place is creepy as shit. You guys okay?” He’s regarding their red-rimmed eyes critically, but all of them nod.

“We’re good,” Ruben says. “Really good.”

Usnavi squeezes his hand.

They step outside into the courtyard together—desert sky brilliant blue in all directions, completely cloudless. Ruben freezes once they’ve left the shadow of the building, tilting his head up.

“You okay, babe?” Vanessa asks and he nods, eyes wide and awed.

“The _sun_ ,” he murmurs, almost reverent.

Now it’s Vanessa turn to squeeze his hand and they linger there for several long moments, basking in the bright warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are like rocket fuel to my motivation, please take the time to leave one! :) Or feel free to come hit me up on [tumblr](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com).


	11. Chapter 11

Brooks is good for her word—they’re given their packs and weapons back and provided with a personal transport for the four-and-a-half-hour drive to Palo Alto. It’s Ruben who conks out this time. Head on her shoulder and fingers tangled with Usnavi’s. Usnavi rubs his thumb idly back and forth against Ruben’s skin: a soothing gesture she remembers from the aftermath of nightmares.

They’re dropped off at the campus and she watches Usnavi, Ruben, and Sonny take in the palm trees and expensive-looking buildings and once perfectly manicured lawns that have long become overgrown.

“So many soldiers,” Ruben murmurs, eyeing a passing group warily.

“Yeah, there was a lot of rioting a few months back so they stepped up their presence,” Vanessa explains as she guides them towards the checkpoint. They’re scanned and ordered to once again hand over their weapons. This time all of them seem relieved to part with the guns—like they know they probably won’t ever have to use them again.

“We’ll get you ration cards later,” Vanessa says. “First we should find Nina.”

Usnavi lights up at the mention of her and nods enthusiastically. Vanessa leaves them in the main courtyard to ask around, learning that Nina has once again been forced to take a few days off and should be back at the apartment.

On the short walk there, her intrepid trio pretty much gapes at the surrounding buildings, noting how clean and intact everything looks in spite of the apparent looting.

“Army had ‘em fixed,” Vanessa explains. “Think they’ve just wanted to keep everything as close to normal as possible.”

She remembers, vaguely, that they offered extra ration cards in exchange for volunteers. Buildings were fixed in no time.

It’s getting dark when they stop in front of her complex.

“Top floor,” she says, ushering them up the creaking stairs. “Number 305.”

Usnavi leads their subdued charge and instead of letting her put the key in the door and open it like a normal person, he knocks and waits patiently for Nina to open it. Lucky for him, it only takes a few minutes (probably because Nina is always worried about potential emergencies, especially when she’s supposed to be off the grid.)

She looks half asleep for a split second before she clocks on Usnavi and then goes completely alert, lips parting in shock.

“Nina Rosario,” Usnavi says, a little choked. “What’s up?”

Nina’s face crumples and she lunges forward, crashing into Usnavi hard enough to knock him back a step.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” she says into his neck as he wraps his arms around her and squeezes tight.

Vanessa’s getting all emotional again, watching them embrace and sink quickly into crying messes. Nina was often like the little sister Usnavi never had and he’s been protective of her for as long as Vanessa can remember—walking her home from the bus stop every afternoon, letting her do her homework in the bodega and helping where he could, even as she started to take classes that progressed far beyond his experience. Now he’s resting his chin on top of her riotous hair and swaying back and forth as he holds her. She can’t see his face, but his shoulders are hitching, like he’s trying not to sob too hard, and that tells her all she needs to know.

“Ahem,” Sonny says after a moment and Nina lifts her head from Usnavi’s shoulder, grinning through her tears.

“Hey, Sonny.”

Usnavi shifts aside to let her hug Sonny next. He’s as tall as she is now and she exclaims over that, clutching his cheeks. He’s crying, too, and Vanessa squeezes Ruben’s hand tight to keep herself anchored as she watches the two halves of her family reuniting.

Of course, this only lasts until she finds her own arms full of Nina. “I’m so glad you made it back okay.”

“’Course,” she says, swaying them like Usnavi did. “Said I would, didn’t I?”

Nina laughs, wet, and wipes her cheeks as she pulls back. Then she turns to Ruben.

They only met once, briefly, when Nina was home for Christmas and the Rosarios had everyone over for dinner. But Nina hugs Ruben just as hard as she has everyone else.

“I hear you’re pretty amazing,” she says into his shoulder.

He hugs her back, looking a little startled. “Funny, hear the same about you.”

She laughs again and steps back, ushering them towards the still open front door. “Come in, come in, I’m sorry I completely forgot my manners.”

“Manners?” Usnavi asks, wry. “Please. We’re family not guests, Rosario.”

“Damn right you are,” Nina says as she shuts the door behind them. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Us, too,” Usnavi agrees.

“It’s been a helluva trip,” Sonny says.

“I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

They hang their coats up on the hooks by the door, leaving their shoes and packs, as well. Vanessa breathes in the slightly dusty air of the apartment and soaks in the familiar, well-worn furniture: the lantern perched in the middle of the table, the candles on the windowsill, the quilt they found last year covering the hole in one of the sofa’s back cushions. It isn’t much, but it’s become home and it’s good to be back.

Even better to have Ruben and Usnavi filling the space, just like she always dreamed.

 

_ _

 

Nina insists on cooking for them, splurging to make an extra portion of soup and tres leches _._ After bland facility food, Vanessa could cry at the smell of it and it looks like the others feel the same. There aren’t enough chairs around the tiny table, so they sit on the floor in the living room and drink the soup straight out of the chipped bowls.

Nina waits until dessert to say, quietly, “you’re the only ones?”

Usnavi winces, but nods. “Yeah, I’m so sorry. Benny and the others…”

“It’s okay,” Nina interrupts him. “I don’t think I want to know how they died.” Relief flickers across Usnavi’s face before he manages to hide it. “Just … my parents?”

“They actually left to go west and look for you.” Usnavi gnaws on his lip. “They … they didn’t make it here, did they?”

“No,” Nina says, barely above a whisper.

Usanvi reaches over to squeeze her hand. “Maybe they’re still out there.”

“Maybe,” she echoes without much conviction. “But I doubt it. I’ve … I already put their names on one of the memorial walls.”

“I’m so sorry,” Usnavi says.

Nina shakes his head. “It’s okay. Sonny’s name is up there, too and well,” she waves to Sonny who nods like _damn straight._

“Mine and Ruben’s aren’t up there?” Usnavi asks.

“Vanessa wouldn’t let me,” Nina says with a wry glance at her.

Usnavi turns to her with the soft, heart-eyed expression that always makes her stomach twist funny and her heart flutter.

“I wasn’t gonna give up on you,” she says, a little defensive. “Either of you.”

Ruben is closer so he leans over to kiss her on the cheek—his expression very similar to Usnavi’s.

“Once again, I feel like chopped liver,” Sonny gripes, though he’s smiling.

“Nah, she just thought that you probably got yourself killed in the first week and didn’t bother,” Usnavi teases.

Sonny glares. “Ruben, kick ‘im for me.”

Ruben very gently nudges Usnavi’s leg with his socked foot and Sonny sighs dramatically at the ceiling. Nina laughs so hard there are fresh tears in the corners of her eyes—infectious joy lighting up her face.

 

_ _

 

They still only have the one bed (Nina says she’s going to put in a request for bigger housing as soon as she can) and so they try to give it to Nina, offering to sleep on the floor.

“Absolutely not,” Nina insists and tries to push her, Ruben, and Usnavi into taking the bedroom—only for everyone to realize that nobody wants to be apart and so they all sleep on the floor in the living room like the sappy idiots they not-so-secretly are.

The next day is busy: giving Usnavi, Ruben, and Sonny a tour of the city, registering them for ration cards, putting in that request for a two-bedroom apartment, and they all once again collapse shortly after dinner. The day after that, though, Nina takes Sonny out, promising to show him the beach and throws an exaggerated wink at Vanessa over her shoulder.

“I think Nina wants us to have Epic Reunion Sex,” Usnavi says and Ruben snorts.

“Please don’t ever repeat that sentence.”

Vanessa admits that it’s pretty long overdue, but she’s feeling strangely hesitant and thinking that this is something they’re gonna have to take slow. She starts by inviting them into the bedroom. Ruben’s eyes lock on the faded sweater hanging over the chair immediately.

“I wear it all the time,” Vanessa says and Ruben makes a soft sound, touching it with reverent fingers before coming over to kiss her.

The journal is next (she wants everything out in the open) and they all sit cross-legged on the bed—Usnavi and Ruben reading together while Vanessa tries not to wring her hands. They laugh sometimes or shake their heads or reach out to touch her—her knee, her hand, her face—but she knows the exact moment they get to the stuff about her first anniversary without them.

Usnavi sucks in a sharp breath and Ruben grips the edge of the journal a little too hard.

“I’m sorry,” she says, suddenly even more nervous. “Nothing actually happened, I _swear._ I just…”

She realizes, furious at herself, that she’s tearing up and Usnavi sets the journal aside to crawl over to her. “Hey, hey, querida _,_ we don’t blame you for that.”

“Absolutely not,” Ruben says, firm.

“We’re just so sorry that you were hurting that much,” Usnavi says, cupping her face in his hands. A few slip free and he wipes them away with his thumbs. “We’ll never blame you for needing comfort or anythin’ like that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she decides. “You’re here now.”

“And not leaving any time soon,” Ruben says.

“Not leaving _ever,”_ Usnavi amends and kisses her deep.

She’s dimly aware of Ruben getting up to put the journal back on the dresser—the rest of it to be read at a later date—before joining them again, folding himself against her back. They stay there for several long moments, cradling her between them, and she never, ever wants them to let go.

Things progress from there, though they don’t go very far: just messy kisses and hands wandering under clothes. There is still a little bit of hesitance between Usnavi and Ruben when they touch each other, which Vanessa files away to work on, but watching them make out is still a sight she loves.

They’ll get there. Relearn each other.

They have time now.

 

_ _

 

Usnavi thinks that he’ll grow to like Palo Alto, even if the spring air feels too warm and the ocean is on the wrong side and palm trees are weird as fuck. Nina takes him to the memorial wall one evening and he traces names from home, lingering once again on Benny’s. It feels like a weird déjà vu, but he’s glad that they’ve followed him here—that he can find them in this new, strange city.

“I’m sorry about Benny,” he says to Nina and wonders if the guilt is something he’ll ever stop feeling. “I tried to save him, but…”

Nina takes his hand. “It’s okay,” she says and it feels like forgiveness. “I’m sure you did everything you could. I don’t blame you, Usnavi.”

He cries, hand pressed flat against the ridges of Benny’s name, but he thinks it will be for the last time.

Later that evening, they meet up with Vanessa and Ruben at the church and between them, they light candles for everyone, including Abuela Claudia. He puts hers right at the center, watching the flame dance, and hopes that wherever she is, she’s happy.

And that if she can see them, she’s proud in spite of everything he's had to sacrifice to survive—the pieces of his soul that got chipped away and the blood that seeped between the cracks of his palms, staining underneath his skin. He hopes she would understand. He hopes she would still recognize him.

 

_ _

 

They get a bigger apartment two weeks in and spend a day moving all of their stuff over. It’s still only two bedrooms and Nina offers to share with Sonny, but he insists that he's totally fine on the pullout couch, but he’ll let her know if that changes and he still commandeers two drawers of her dresser for his meagre clothes.

Their bedroom has a double bed, which is a tight squeeze for three but they manage. It’ll probably be unbearable in the summer, having to sleep in a sticky tangle of limbs, but for now the air is cool enough at night not to bother them too much. It’s still glorious, having Vanessa between them every night—getting to kiss and touch her on a regular basis again. Proper sex still isn’t a thing that’s happened yet, but he’s in no rush. It kind of feels like starting over with them both since it’s been two years of separation from Vanessa and him and Ruben have pretty much gotten used to rushed moments of intimacy in whatever private corner they can find.

So, they move slow and they take their time, wary of the risk of damaging each other. He kisses and kisses and kisses Ruben until his skin doesn’t shiver and he doesn’t flash back to that awful bandit camp and blood all over Ruben’s face when Ruben's fingers trace his cheeks and Ruben's tongue dips into his mouth. One night, with a full moon streaming silver through the open window, he finally takes off his shirt and lets them both see his scars.

There’s a lot, though he still doesn’t rival Ruben, and he’s never been self-conscious about his body before but he kind of wants to hide now, looking down at the red lines slowly fading into white and the puckered, angry burns.

“Is this how you felt?” he asks Ruben. “Like … like your body wasn’t yours anymore? Like you didn’t recognize it?”

Ruben looks heartbroken, but then he nods and _then_ he traces his fingers along the scars and says over and over “you’re beautiful, you’re so beautiful” until Usnavi almost believes it. Then Vanessa lays him down on the mattress and puts her lips and tongue to the big scar along his side—the wound that should have killed him—and it’s so good it _aches._

 

_ _

 

“So, I might have a job for you,” Nina says to him one morning at breakfast (they finally have a big enough table to fit all of them around).

“Shoot,” he says around his mouthful of oatmeal.

“Well, we run a major supply center out of one of the old campus buildings. There are a lot of farms in the area that have gotten up and running again so we’ve got an influx of stock and I could really use someone to oversee it all.”

He nearly chokes on the oatmeal. “You want _me_ to _run_ the supply center?”

“Yep,” Nina says, no hesitation whatsoever. “You’d be perfect at it. You’re great at math and keeping track of stock and you’ve got charisma in spades so I’m sure you’ll be able to charm people into donating things or keep them from getting too upset if we run out of something. You’re perfect for it, Usnavi.”

He looks around the table for further confirmation of this honestly wild assumption, expecting to find echoes of his own wariness. But both Vanessa and Ruben are nodding and grinning at him and Sonny says, “you should go for it. You love bossin’ people around.”

It still feels like too much responsibility, but he trusts Nina and he needs something to keep himself occupied.

“Okay, sure. When do I start?”

“How does this afternoon sound?”

“Uh, great.”

Nina beams at him and that’s that settled, apparently.

 

_ _

 

It takes time to get used to certain things. He has a running list in his head that has replaced the Supply Run one:

Having so much food. Even with rationing it’s _way_ more than they usually managed to scavenge in New York.

Not needing to carry weapons with him everywhere.

Or watch every shadow and tense at every noise.

Being around so many people on a day-to-day basis. He thinks that he might have almost forgotten how to talk to strangers and it takes a while to shake off the rust that’s pretty much buried his social skills.

“You’re a lot quieter now,” Vanessa tells him one day, sounding a little sad, and he’s surprised. Didn’t even realize how much having to learn how to be still and silent and stealthy changed him.

“I’ll get louder,” he says, though he doesn’t know if that’s true. He stopped up his voice so much and for so long, he’s not sure if he can unclog it now.

(It’s about letting go, he’ll realize eventually—teaching himself not to care about what might happen if he’s a little too talkative or hyperactive or noisy; remembering that there aren’t any consequences for it, that here a potentially horrific death doesn’t lurk around every unexplored corner.

It will get easier after that. Until one morning, he’ll sing “GOOD MORNING, VANEEEES-A-A-A” at the top of his lungs when she walks out into the kitchen and she’ll grin at him like he’s conjured sunshine on a cloudy day.)

 

_ _

 

The air keeps on getting warmer and spring unfurls into summer. They start sleeping with less clothes each night in an effort to cool down, but it's pretty futile because things _between_ them are heating up, too.

Vanessa asks if she can see them one night, if she can watch. He suspects that it’s partly desire on her part and partly a calculated ploy to get him and Ruben over whatever hurdles might still be between them but he doesn’t call her on it. It’s kind of awesome, putting on a show again: kisses a little sloppier than he’d normally make them, touches slow and lingering, moans just a tiny bit exaggerated. Ruben matches him step for step, though, and it’s so good, it’s so _good._

It got lost somewhere in all the death and chaos: this feeling of Ruben’s fingers on his skin and Ruben’s _mouth_ making a hot trail down his body until Ruben is shifting his hips up to slide his boxers off and Ruben’s lips are closing around him, sinking down, down, _down…_

He buries a hand in Ruben’s hair and sees half the Milky Way on the ceiling, words tumbling out of his mouth in an incoherent torrent—praises and curses and declarations of love all mixed up together. Vanessa runs her own elegant fingers through his hair, before tightening her grip and tipping his head further back, and he shakes apart like that, strung out between them.

When Ruben sits up and wipes his mouth, Usnavi is already reaching for him. “I love you, I love you, te amo, ven aquí _…”_

Ruben presses his face into Usnavi’s neck and trembles when Usnavi gets a fumbling hand into his boxers to stroke him. Vanessa rakes her nails gently down Ruben’s back and whispers, “look at you both, you’re so lovely, I love you,” and Usnavi can almost _hear_ something click back into place.

Two days later, he and Ruben take turns with their mouths between Vanessa’s legs and he drinks in the sight of her caught up in pleasure: lips parted, chest heaving, short hair sticking to her forehead and cheeks in the cloying heat of the room. The apartment is empty and she normally isn’t loud, but they push her there, and it’s a kind of music: her curses in Spanish and English, her moans, her gasps, her hitching breaths, the scratch of the sheets against her skin when her legs jerk a little from Ruben’s tongue on her clit.  

He’s missed this, missed _her,_ so much and he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop being in awe of the fact that he gets to see her like this again.

That he’ll (hopefully) get to see it for the rest of his days.

 

_ _

 

They settle, in starts and stops. He still wakes some nights with his heart racing and all the air trapped somewhere deep in his lungs, clutching his stomach or his shoulder and shaking from the phantom pain. He always tries not to disturb Ruben or Vanessa, but it’s hard in a such small bed. They never seem to mind, though, and they hold him and talk to him until the terror subsides and the pain fades.

(Sometimes it takes until sunlight pushing bright against the thin curtains.)

But on the flip side, he discovers that he actually _likes_ his new job, a lot, and he’s fucking _good_ at it. Vanessa goes back to working at the radio station and it’s weird in a completely awesome kind of way to hear her voice crackling through the speakers in his cramped office two mornings and two evenings a week.

Sonny starts helping out with incoming arrivals, running errands, securing ration coupons, watching kids—anything and everything, really, but it suits him: the chaos. He’s more alive than Usnavi’s seen him in months and pretty soon he has people all over the city shouting greetings to him when he goes past.

It makes Usnavi’s chest swell with pride: his kid cousin thriving and following in Nina’s footsteps—steadily winning over the population one small group of people at a time. Makes him think, too, that he might have at least done this right.

Ruben drifts, in the early days. He still tires easily and he sleeps a lot, but eventually he starts wandering down to campus and hanging out with Usnavi, since they’re really not allowed at the station when Vanessa’s on air.

It’s on one of their quieter afternoons—Usnavi’s tallying up stock from a new shipment that Nina and the center will then allocate around the city—when a man in a fucking _suit_ appears in the open doorway.

Both of them tense when the man says, “are you Doctor Ruben Marcado?”

“I am,” Ruben says from his spot on Usnavi’s desk (no matter how many times Usnavi tells him that the desk is _not_ the same as the bodega counter, he still sits on it), raising a hand for good measure.

“I’m James Harrington, representative of the interim government in Sacramento.”

He pulls a very official looking badge from an inner pocket and flashes it at them. Usnavi feels his shoulders tighten further and notices Ruben shift to put a foot on the ground, curling one hand around the edge of the desk—getting ready to attack or flee, Usnavi doesn’t know.

“Can I help you?” Ruben says, voice flat the way it always goes when he’s forcing himself to sound calm.

“I’m sorry it’s taken us so long to contact you,” Harrington says. “But we’ve begun producing your cure in larger quantities and it’s working wonders.”

“That’s good,” Ruben says. He doesn’t sound surprised.

“However, we would really like to ask you once again to reconsider our offer regarding the research team.”

“Not interested,” Ruben says immediately, holding on to the desk so tight now his knuckles are bleaching white.

“Please hear me out,” Harrington says.

“I already told Brooks—”

“We want you to lead it,” Harrington interrupts and Ruben freezes like he’s suddenly run out of batteries.

“What?”

“We want you to lead it,” Harrington repeats. “That you managed to make a cure out of, to my understanding, a crude lab in New York is nothing short of miraculous.”

“Hardly,” Ruben drawls. “I’m just fucking smart.”

Harrington rolls with that nice and politician smooth. “Exactly. Which is why there is no one else who could unlock the cure’s potential. We need you, Dr. Marcado. Desperately.”

Ruben stares at the floor for several long moments and Usnavi bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from talking. This is Ruben’s decision and Ruben’s alone.

“I would have some conditions,” Ruben finally says.

“Name them.”

“You close the facility,” Ruben demands, crossing his arms across his chest. There is a familiar stubborn set to his jaw, meaning he’s not gonna budge on this one.

Harrington startles (Ruben definitely has a knack for breaking stuck up people’s composure into tiny pieces). “Excuse me?”

“It’s a waste of resources and time. Like you said, I figured out a cure out of a makeshift lab in the spare bedroom of a townhouse. Mostly because I was out there interacting with the world. That’s how I found out someone was immune and how I was able to accurately chart the progression of the virus and figure out how to reverse it. Your scientists put themselves under quarantine in the mountains, miles from anything. Sometimes the best way to make discoveries is to get _out_ of the lab.”

Ruben is passionate about this, and has probably been thinking about it a lot since they left Nevada, knowing him. His tone is still sharp, though, edging close to outright anger. Usnavi keeps holding his tongue.

“So…” Harrington says very slowly. “What are you proposing?”

“I open a lab here,” Ruben says without any hesitation (which means he’s _definitely_ been thinking about it). “A lot of the campus labs are intact and still have their equipment. There’s space to move what we need from the facility, too. It’s a more central location and more dynamic environment, with more potential for accurate data and test results.”

“Okay,” Harrington says. “You make a good point. Anything else?”

“I have final say about who’s on the team.”

“Of course,” Harrington agrees, giving that one up easy.

“And,” Ruben continues, “I want to open a clinic. There isn’t one in this area to service refugees and new arrivals. I’m sure we can find doctors willing to serve for some extra ration cards and I used to be a pharmacologist. You’d need to agree to allocate some supplies and equipment to us, but not too much to get us off the ground at first. It’ll also be a good way to keep administering the cure.”

Okay, _now_ it’s super hard not to pull Ruben down for a kiss. His brilliant boyfriend sitting here bossing around Important Government People like it’s a regular Tuesday morning—his chest is all tight with pride.

“That’s all,” Ruben concludes.

Harrington nods. “I’ll talk with my superiors about it and get back to you within a few days.”

Ruben smiles, all teeth. “Looking forward to it.”

The click of the door shutting behind Harrington is loud in the room and Ruben slumps forward, chin hitting his chest. Usnavi finally gets up and goes around the desk to stand between his legs and kiss him.

“That was awesome. _You’re_ so awesome. You okay?”

Ruben nods, but tucks himself against Usnavi—a silent request. Usnavi obliges and holds him close, stroking up and down his back.

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot, querido _?”_

Ruben makes a noncommittal noise. “Not running a research team. But the clinic, yes. Was just going to start out seeing if I could partner with one or two doctors and, like, make house calls if necessary—or be open once a week for people to come in. But this is a lot better, if they agree to it.”

“And running the research team?”

“As long as they stay far away from you, I’d be fine,” Ruben mumbles into Usnavi’s shirt.

He kisses the top of Ruben’s head. “I think you should go for it. He’s right. No one else can do this. Not like you could.”

“Thanks,” Ruben says in his _I can’t believe you’re so kind to me_ voice. “I guess we’ll just wait and see.”

Usnavi doubts that the answer will be no, but he once again keeps quiet.

 

_ _

 

It isn’t a no. It’s a resounding _yes_ to everything and suddenly they’re all caught up in Ruben’s whirlwind as he runs around getting the labs set up and vetting staff and going with Nina to talk to doctors and transferring data and equipment from Nevada.

They barely see him for a month. He’s gone before they wake up in the morning and he comes home to shove food into his mouth in the evening and collapse on the bed—asleep before he even fully hits the mattress.

“I’m worried about him,” Vanessa says one night. Ruben is dead to the world between them and she’s tracing light, aimless patterns on the back of his sleep shirt. “He’s still getting his energy back from everything. I don’t want him to overexert himself.”

Usnavi hums in agreement. “We’ll keep an eye on him. Things should die down by the end of next week and we can force him into bed for at least 48 hours while they finalize the transfer. And beyond that, you’re looking at the strongest person I know. He’ll be okay.”

“You’re right,” Vanessa agrees with a sigh. “I’ll still probably worry, though.”

“You and me both.”

But Ruben pulls through, like Ruben always does, and the opening of the small clinic and pharmacy is a huge success. Usnavi’s pretty sure that in another month or so, Ruben will be up there with Nina as a pillar of the community, and beyond.

He’s a little nervous, he’ll admit, about Ruben reverting back to old habits and slowly getting swallowed by the lab until they only see him in fleeting glimpses. But Ruben is home every night for dinner and there almost every morning for breakfast and in between he’s an active presence in their bed on the nights when they aren’t so tired they just want to sleep.

Him and Vanessa haven’t progressed back to any of the more intense stuff yet, Usnavi knows, and he figures it’s probably going to take a while still. When he works up the courage to ask Ruben about it—terrified that he’s ruined this for him, after all—Ruben just smiles at him, gentle, and insists, “it isn’t your fault. We both went too far and it’ll take time to come back, for me. But that’s the theme, isn’t it? Time.”

He’s right, Usnavi decides.

Maybe there is some truth to the old adage that time heals all wounds.

 

_ _

 

They settle, steady. They all pitch in and make decorations for the apartment from what they can salvage. Nina breaks out an old portable cassette player she found every other week when they all have a free night and they push all the furniture against the walls to make a dance floor so they play crackling salsa music and dance until they get yelled at by the neighbors.

The nightmares lessen, sink to the bottom of his dreams like stones to a riverbed, and he remembers how to breathe at night when his shoulder aches and the darkness feels alive.

Sonny goes back to collecting books—trading them for work, this time - and he stacks them up in neat piles beneath the living room window, his own private library. Eventually, the rest of them start bringing back interesting texts they come across, especially Nina, and the books steadily climb the walls.

Vanessa and Ruben get him a hat for his birthday, same style as his old one, though the white stripes are missing, and it’s honestly the best gift he’s ever received.  He shows them a fraction of his overwhelming gratitude in bed that night with his hands and his tongue and his mouth.

Vanessa stops worrying every time they’re out of her sight, stops waking up in the middle of the night needing to check that they’re still here. It feels like they’re solidifying for her again, piece by piece, until she remembers not to doubt that they’ll always be here—that they’ll come running every time she needs them, whether she calls them or not.

And Ruben. _Ruben._ Sometimes, Ruben feels like a force of nature. By winter he has half the whole damn city vaccinated with stage one of the cure and the fawning praise of Sacramento.

“I don’t see what’s so special,” he says to them all over dinner one night. “I’m just doing my part.”

Nina shrugs. “So am I. I think it’s the fact that we stepped up to the plate in the first place. We decided that we had a part we needed to do. A lot of people just stuck their heads in the sand.”

“To our resident bad asses,” Vanessa says, raising her cup of water.

“To our resident bad asses,” Usnavi and Sonny echo as Nina and Ruben exchange amused, blushing glances.

They join in clinking their glasses against everyone else’s, though, and Usnavi’s so proud of them he doesn’t think his skin is gonna be able to hold it all in.

He's happy, he realizes, watching the people he loves laugh loud and carefree around the table. He's so fucking happy and, most importantly, he's  _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was originally going to do an epilogue, but I think I'm going to end it here instead. I might write a short sequel, if people are interested, that would take the place of the epilogue at some point in the near future. For now, though, I'm happy with where we're stopping so, that's all, folks! 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, it's definitely been a wild ride. <3 <3 <3
> 
> I also can't believe this is over 50,000 words. *collapses*
> 
> Comments are always massively motivating and please feel free to come chat to me on [tumblr](http://www.wobblyspelling.tumblr.com).


End file.
